


A Light from the Shadows

by silmarlfan1



Series: The House of Arthadan/Rogers Series [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bottom Bucky, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky is a father, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Childbirth, Christianity, Crossover, Crossover of Epic Proportions, Elves, F/M, Fall of Númenor, Holocaust, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Part 1 of five, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sex, Steve is royalty, Steve nearly goes darkside, Stillbirth, World War I, World War II, X-Men References, graphic birth, lots of feels, mentions of the Nazi war crimes, mentions of ww 2 war crimes, the House of Arthadan Series, viewer discression advised, war and battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 129,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarlfan1/pseuds/silmarlfan1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it that makes a good man great? What potential for goodness could there be within him, to become Erskine's Super Soldier? Was there always this potential? Was it the capacity for compassion that made him perfect for Rebirth. Or, perhaps, it was the secret his family left behind in Ireland; the secret of his family origins in lost Numenor; in Middle Earth.</p><p>What if Steve was more than what he seemed? What if he carried the blood of Elros Tar Minyatur, and the blood of Numenor?<br/>Bucky always knew Steve was special, and he would do anything to show the world that; to keep his fragile heart beating… even sell his body for money. But choices come with a price, a price he might not be willing to pay. <br/>In the middle of The War, a child is about to be born that will change the fate of them all forever; for Steve isn’t the only one who was special. And Heaven’s had their eye on  James "Bucky" Barnes for a while.<br/>Steve was always meant to be more than just a skinny kid from Brooklyn, more than Captain America, just like Bucky was meant to be more than just the Soldier. Follow this tale spanning two thousand years, from Numenor's fall to the crash of the Valkyrie in 1945.<br/>1of5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: the fall of Numenor

**Author's Note:**

> this is a long story. looking forward to hearing reviews. FYI I suck at Summaries. but in brief this is a Crossover of epic proportions. if you read you are in for a hell of a ride, because I guarantee that it will have some twists and turns that might make you want to look some stuff up, but you will enjoy it. I loved writing this and hope you all enjoy it.  
> please review.

A Light from the Shadows

Chapter 1: Prologue

There was always potential within Steve Rogers, whether he knew it or not. It was this potential that made him the perfect subject for the Erskine Serum; but there is more to his tale than just being a little scrawny kid from Brooklyn. His tale stretches back to the earliest days of Christianity and to another world all together. This is the tale of the House of Arthadan, and the two descendants that, beyond reason and vision, changed the course of the Future. This tale is that of a light that sprung up unlooked for within a house of nobility and royalty, and that guided the World through the Shadows of War and back into the light of Freedom. This is the story of Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes, though it may not seem it at times, and their trials through War and Death, into resurrection and new life.

But first as with all tales, we must start at the beginning.

It began truly that horrid day when mighty Numenor fell into the depths of the sea. As you all know the tale, you would know that, though the great isle was sank beneath the Great Wave that rose over the hills and mountains of the land of the Men of the West, there were survivors that were carried away in the ships of the Faithful. In these ships were the last descendants of Numenor, and among them were Elendil and his two sons, Anarion and Isildur. A great many of the Faithful were counted among those pledged to Elendil’s house and that of his sons.

But among these ships was one Man whose fate was to forever change. His name was Arthadan, and he was Elendil’s younger brother, indeed his only brother. He was a very young Numenorean; he was not yet past his sixtieth birthday when he was given charge of a great portion of the host of the Faithful. He was on a separate ship than his brother and led a host of ten ships packed to the brim with men, women, children, and horses; as well as no small amount of wealth carried by each of the families in trunks and chests. His own wealth was small compared to that of his brother and Nephews but it was still considerable. In total those that he led away from Doomed Numenor numbered over two and a half million fighting Men (this number did not count the women and children not yet of age in the eyes of Numenoreans) and this was a considerable force.

As he sailed away from his only homeland, keeping his eyes on his brother and the ships of his nephews, he and his portion of the fleet was caught by the same wave that sent Elendil to the north to what would become Arnor and his nephews south to what would become Gondor; but instead of begin sent off course and landing with his brother or nephews, his fleet was caught in a storm that flung them further south than even Anarion or Isildur.

Arthadan kept in constant contact with his ships as the storm threw them further and further way from shore, shouting over the howling winds and fighting with the wheel of the ship in a hope to keep his charges from meeting a watery grave. The storm grew worse and Arthadan clung to the ship’s wheel with his fading strength. In desperation, he cried out to the heavens, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me? What have I done to incur thy wrath? I beg thee, oh Lord of the heavens, of the winds and the waves, send us a guide; a sign to guide our path to our new home, where we might repent of our sins before thine eyes and return to thee as thy children again!”

By some miracle, some divine will of God, Arthadan’s prayer was answered in that moment, when before him the sea seemed to shine before the prow of the lead ship, his ship. It started as a small and single ray of light as wide as the ship and it grew, becoming wider and wider until the whole size of it was a wide as the number of ships to either side of his own. Arthadan smiled and rode the waves into the light, crying out for the other ships to do the same. The wind that hand blown them about upon the sea like a cork, now blew with purpose, the purpose of the Will of God, and the ten ships sailed into it.

All at once, when Arthadan’s ship past through the light, the waves were silent and the wind calmed. Arthadan looked back and saw that the other ships had made it, before he looked about him again. Not only had the wind calmed and the waves become more sedate, there was not a cloud in the sky to suggest that they were even in such a storm not moments ago. Arthadan’s confusion was shared among the men as they gazed about them at the strange sea that now boar their ships. Arthadan looked to the sky with a smile and spoke softly.

“Thy Will be done, Lord of the most High. Thou hast my thanks, and that of my men. Wherever Thou hast sent us, we will endeavor to be good children and a wiser people from the lessons we have learned. Guide us to where we need to be, Lord, and we will go; I will go.” With that the winds blew strongly east and Arthadan steered his ship to let the wind and waves carry them; following the birds that soared on them to land.

The azure blue sea carried them for many hours, through the day and into the night. Arthadan stayed at the wheel, though his exhaustion was great and his need for food and rest gnawing at his weary mind. It was not until the light of the first dawn began to break that Arthadan finally had reason to rest; the look out, that stayed in the crow’s nest all night, had turned his wearied eyes once more to the horizon and saw the faintest glimpse of land. Screaming loudly so that all the ships would hear, he cried, “Land, there is Land!” over and over until those on the ships began to come out of the passenger and cargo holds and strain their eyes to the eastern horizon. Sure enough, one of the sharpest eyed among them cried out as well, “Land! I can see it!” Arthadan looked up and saw the faintest outline of Land, before he sagged in relief. He handed the wheel over to his lieutenant and staggered into his cabin and collapsed on his bed; he was asleep in moments. ~*

* * *

Now, why, you are asking, am I telling you this? It is simple and you must have a bit of patience. You’ll see your beloved duo soon enough. But if you want me to speed it up, I will. This part will be a bit briefer than the last.

Upon their arrival into the new lands, Arthadan and his people came to realize that they were no longer in the world of Arda marred, but upon a different world they came to know as Terra. It was a world very different and yet, it was still the same as the old one. It was here that Arthadan and his people found forgiveness for their sins in the eyes of God. The land that they had seen on the horizon was the coast of Judea and the land of Israel. Arthadan left the ships and with his most trusted lords, he wandered the land on foot and on horseback. It was during these wanderings that he came upon a gathering of people listening to a man speak and teach. Arthadan and his men harkened to his words and found them just and wise. When the crowd had disbursed for the night and the man and his followers were alone, Arthadan approached him. Much has fallen into legend about that day; but what I can tell you, that is truth, was that the moment the teachers eyes locked with Arthadan, the Numenorean lord fell to his knees trembling and bowed low before him; his face in the dirt, and his hands on his head, as he shook with tears of sorrow and repentance.

The people of Numenor, displaced and lost found repentance and forgiveness in God through His Son that day and ever after they devoted their lives to thanking God for the gift they were given.

Arthadan and his followers came to know Christ that day and Arthadan followed the Son of Man and listened to his teachings, writing down the words he said and asking for stories, from those that knew him, of earlier teachings. Soon Arthadan and his people had all that they could ever want and more in the written teaching. Arthadan was young by the counting of his people but he was wise and kind, thus when he heard that the Philistines had the Teacher arrested and tried with Heresy, Arthadan rushed to Jerusalem to do something; but by the time he had gotten there it was too late: the Romans were marching Him and two other prisoners down to Golgotha to be Crucified. Arthadan watched helpless as they nailed his Lord to the cross and hung him from the Tree on the hill.

Yes, he was there. Arthadan was there that horrid day. And he mourned and cried with Mary, His mother, and watched and heard Him take His final breath. It was here on the Hill of the Skulls that Arthadan met the man who would become his Father-in-Law: Joseph of Arimathea. Joseph had taken a mysterious bride some thirty years before, and the bride had borne him a daughter before she past. The bride was an elf maid of unfathomable beauty; beauty that rivaled that of Luthien herself. Joseph named her Sarah, and her mother called her Miriel for her jewel-like radiance.

When the prophecies were at last fulfilled and the Days of the early Church were founded, Joseph met with Arthadan to ask what he and his kin would do now that things had changed. Arthadan told him that he would search for a new home for his people and try to bring the Word to wherever they went, and to whomever they met. At long last he asked Joseph if he would grant him a single boon: his daughter’s hand in marriage. Joseph, hesitant to marry his only daughter off to just any man, was delighted to have his new friend and Brother in Christ become his Son-in-Law; and so the two were arranged to meet and Court formally for a year before it would be decided whether they would wed or not.

As it would turn out, the two of them fell deeply in love and did wed that next year. It seemed that life was about to become good for the young lord, but fate has a way of turning on you when you least expect it to. Rome turned its eyes on the fledgling group of Christian Numenoreans and their eyes turned green with envy and greed. They attacked one of the settlements set up in the east but fell to the superior technological and military might of the Numenoreans. When Arthadan heard, he took up arms and rallied his Men to fight; and fight they did. They swept across the lands of the empire like a blazing brush fire, and soon Arthadan and his armies were marching into the city of Rome itself. Arthadan rode through the streets on his mighty black war steed, as the Conqueror of Rome. He and his armies had done what none had before: crushed the might of Rome and pushed them back to the very heart of their empire. Arthadan rode up and into the senate. Here he dismounted and walked up to the emperor himself and stood as equal with the mightiest man in the world. At his back were his most trusted lords and warriors, each and every last one willing to die to save their uncrowned King, and for what they believed. The emperor looked upon Arthadan and saw a warlord clad in strange, bright armor and shining mail; his sword, long and bright, a heavy weight as his side; his great kite shield held in the hands of his lieutenant and in his right hand was a mighty lance and spear of strange make and design. This was the conqueror of Rome: a man of strength and might, shining brightly in the sun, in his armor; with a single pendant jewel strung from a silver chain about his neck, catching the sun and flashing like a star.

Arthadan spared Rome that day and showed them mercy, where they had showed none before. He left Rome just as he entered it: unharmed and untouched and perhaps a bit wiser than before. But he warned the men or power not to attempt to oppress his people again, lest he return and destroy Rome; burn it to the ground and tear down its stone work until there was nothing left for even their grandchildren to remember the might of Rome by.

This was not the last time Arthadan would enter the city of Rome as Conqueror; that was almost four hundred years later. Arthadan was no longer a young Numenorean in the springtime of his strength and youth. He had aged, and was strong but not the young man he once was. His golden locks had begun to turn silver many years before, the lines of worry and care had become etched upon his face, and though he was still strong and filled with life, he had begun to feel the years in his body and spirit. This time, at his back was not just his most trusted lords, but also his two Sons; his eldest, Aaron Laurion, and youngest, Joshua Mormegil. This time, it was the young and yearly Roman Catholic Church that had incurred his wrath to war again; and again Arthadan was merciful and gave warning before he turned back to his sons and rode home.

It was not long after that Arthadan looked out at his people and saw the bleak future ahead of them, as their numbers slowly but steadily dwindled. It was in that moment, that Arthadan felt the call of Sleep and rest. In a last act, Arthadan had his finest artisans and craftsmen recreate his armor, his sword, chain-mail, and his shield and lance. Every inch of his armament was recreated down to the last detail. At long last, when the replicas were finished and construction on his burial tomb complete, Arthadan put on his armor and laid down his last. He gifted the original armor to his eldest son, and gave him the pendant he wore around his neck. All these things Arthadan treasured above all else save for his beloved wife and children; for they were gifts from Celebrimbor himself, the greatest Smith of the Second Age. Celebrimbor had a soft spot for the young lord, and saw himself within the youth; so he fashioned Arthadan his armor and weapons, and made him the pendant that Arthadan wore. Aaron knew in his heart that these were his father’s final moments with them and took the gifts silently, putting on the signet ring and placing the chain around his neck.

Arthadan smiled to his sons and asked them to be brave and wise, and to lead their people where he could not. Joshua took command in the east and Aaron would lead from their home in the north of Ireland. At long last Arthadan laid down his burdens and fell in to a Death Sleep. Here in this moment age seemed to melt away from Arthadan’s face, making him young again.

The following morning Arthadan’s body was placed in a casket with his armor and armament, and was laid within his tomb to rest until he was needed again.

A few centuries later Arthadan’s 8th descendant by his first born, Rogers founded a new house in Ireland and from then on the House or Arthadan became the House of Rogers. And halfway across the continent the descendant of Joshua’s house held control of a small province in Romania and brokered a peace with the gypsy king called Barnes. ~*

* * *

It wasn’t until almost nine hundred years later that the House of Rogers and Barnes met, but it was a great time for fate to align.

It was in the early years after the turn of the century, that this happened.

The year was 1913. It was a time of unrest in the land, and none sensed this more than the Numenoreans scattered around the world. In the many long centuries since Arthadan fell into his Death Sleep, the people became divided, and they disbursed throughout the lands. Many settled in the east where they landed and followed the rule of the younger son and his descendants, while the rest settled throughout the lands of the West, moving further into the west and into the remote corners left untouched by Rome. And they dwindled, their numbers growing fewer with each year. The once mighty people, whose people once numbered over five million, were now diminished. That number was halved over the years and the mighty Numenoreans, whose heroics were once remembered in songs, became a myth; though they lived, most thought the tales of their long life, inhuman strength, and cat-like reflexes, were simply that: Stories; made up fairy tales of grander days long past. Only the Numenoreans knew the truth and they resigned themselves to this fate, but fate has a way of changing when you least expect it.

This year was a year of joy in the western house or Arthadan; for the heir to this house had just married his betrothed, Sarah, daughter of the House of Beor; herself a descendant of the House of Arthadan by many descents. This union of the house of Rogers and Beor united the house of Arthadan in the west through marriage at long last. Joseph Arathan Rogers was the eldest son of his house, followed closely by his younger wilder brother, Andrew. Joseph was young and brave, and he had a fire within his spirit that burned at the sight of injustice. He was a tall man in that day, over six feet in height. He was broad of shoulder and chest, but had a trim waist. His hair was a dark burnished gold that turned to sunshine in the summer months, and his wide smile captivated every person directed at it. Joseph knew his duty was to marry a woman of Numenorean descent, but he was a man of the heart; and though they were betrothed since her birth, Joseph loved Sarah, and courted her during their long engagement. He thought her name was fitting, Sarah Tinuviel: princess of the Nightingales. Though Sarah was fair where Luthien was dark, she was a vision in those days of her youth; beautiful inside and out.

Their marriage was to bring a short time of peace to the land, but as they say: peace never lasts. Decent had broken out in the lands, and soon riots could be heard even from the remote manor on their estate. Joseph worried for his young bride and feared that the unrest could be a way that their enemies would try to wipe them out. It was as war loomed on the horizon, that Joseph began to gather his most valued heirlooms to be stored in safety. And just as Joseph had finished packing away some clothing, the worst thing that could have ever happened, shattered the peace of the young couple and brought an end to the House of Rogers rule as lords in Ireland: War broke out, and the world spiraled in to war. Ireland’s distaste for British rule created the perfect storm to allow the enemies of the House of Rogers to strike and attack. A riot broke out in the town near Rogers Manor, instigated by the enemies of the Numenoreans, and pushed forward toward the estate.

Fearful for the life of his family, Joseph gathered as much of his belonging that he dared to take with him, and with the clothes on their backs, and a few bags of clothing and valuables, the two Rogers fled their home for the coast. For the first time in his life, Andrew protected his elder brother and led the rioters away from his ancestral home, and his brother and sister-in-law. The Great Hall of Castel O’ Rogers was spared that night, and the loyal servants took over the care and maintenance of the estate until the Rogers could return. They could not know that neither Joseph nor Sarah would ever set foot in the great manor again; and indeed no Rogers would for many years.

Joseph took with him nothing and left everything behind; his home, his history and his family fortune. Joseph knew that their security was unsure, in the coastal town where they found themselves; so he took his mother’s ring from Sarah, and sold it at a pawn shop to buy tickets for the next ship to America. It just happened that the next ship was heading out the next day for New York and Elis Island. Joseph and Sarah took the ship ride and clutched to each other fearfully throughout the voyage, knowing that at any moment the Germans could sink the ship and kill them. Thankfully the two of them make it to America. Joseph and Sarah gave their names to the man at the gate telling them that they were married. After they past the medical exams and signed the books, Joseph and Sarah went out to look for a new house and jobs to pay the bills.

Joseph was a strong man in those days, and got good work at the docks hauling crates and barrels off ships. It was hard work, but it paid well and Joseph was grateful. The manager didn’t mind his Irish accent, and thought him just another Irish boy come to make his way in the world. Joseph was grateful for the anonymity, and gave no details of his life before; not knowing if there could be spies for the enemy in the city. Brooklyn was full of Irish immigrants, so another slightly odder pair didn’t bat an eye with the new neighbors. Sarah was a well-educated woman versed in all kinds of healing lore and medicine, and earned a job as a nurse at the hospital caring for the worst patients. It was grueling work, but the pay was handsome, and it gave them a good apartment near some Numenoreans that came to America hoping to avoid the war in Europe.

It seemed for a time that things were good until Sarah discovered that she was pregnant. Now normally this would be a time of joy for a Numenorean couple, and it was for a time, but it did not last. Sarah lost the child late in the pregnancy, and the two mourned their baby’s death greatly. Joseph promised that someday they would have a child; a strong child with her eyes, and his hair and smile, and Sarah’s strong morals tied with Joseph’s sense of honor and Justice and duty. It was a dream neither would see fulfilled completely.

It was not but two years later that Joseph received his Draft letter. Though afraid, he was willing to fight for the country that took him in, so he packed his things and shipped out for training. It was months before Joseph would see his beloved wife again, and when he did it was in a sharp military uniform with a bright smile on his face. Sarah found joy in every moment he was with her, knowing all too well that the relative peace would not last, and her Joe would be shipped out to Europe to fight in the Great War.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

* * *

While this was happening, elsewhere in Brooklyn, a young couple found themselves in a similar boat. Another descendant of the House of Arthadan found herself in America not long before. Her name was Winifred Itarillë, and she was descended from Joshua, Arthadan’s second born, though she and her family were not directly descended from that line in an unbroken chain like Joseph was. Her family came from Romania and the lands that Joshua and his descendants ruled. They had long ago opened a dialogue with the House of Rogers that one day they would unite their houses in marriage. It was planned that Winifred would wed Sarah and Joseph’s first born son, but that was not to be. Unrest was in all lands at that time, and it was not many years before Joseph and Sarah fled Ireland, that Winifred’s parents packed their things and fled to America; loosing valuables along the way and heirlooms, but gaining a freedom more than they had before. The last unbroken heir to the house of Joshua, son of Arthadan, had died not long before they left and thus the lands of the Numenoreans began to fade.

When Winifred arrived in New York, she was a poorer girl than most, but she was smart and well-read. She had a family that was good with money, and soon enough the family of Cúthal were well off and could afford some luxuries that most could not. In New York she met an older man by the name of Thomas George Barnes; he went by George to his friends and acquaintances. Winifred fell for him hard and deeply, and George loved her just as much. George Barnes was the son of a Gypsy king from Romania, and had come to America to leave behind the life of a wanderer and become a different man than his father. He had very little to give as a bride’s price for Winifred; only the promise to protect her and love her with all of his heart. The two wed in the spring of 1916, and Winifred was given a beautiful gown of the latest fashion and glamor, made from the purest of white silks and lace, with jewels and pearls sewn to the bodice and collar. The only things that were missing were the veil and head-piece her mother wore at her wedding; lost on the trip to America.

By December, Winifred was pregnant with their first child; and though it would only be one quarter elvish, Winnie knew that it would have a strange and unusual fate. And right she was, for it was that in the early dawn of March the 10th 1917, Winifred gave birth to the first Barnes child born in America. The problem was that they could not tell if it was a boy or a girl. This shocked the attending doctor, and midwife but not the parents of the young mother. Hermaphroditism was rare but not uncommon among the Numenoreans of Terra; In fact, the condition was on the rise. Whereas one or two generations before only one in four sons would have the condition, this generation and in those after, it was one in two.

Winnie was reluctant to give their child a gender neutral Numenorean name, and wanted it to have a name to reflect its personality and the new country that had taken its parents in. The two wondered at it for a bit, and finally decided on the name James Buchanan Barnes. It was a good name and honored their new homeland quite well. The young couple said that they could just call the child Jamie for the time being. And Jamie it was called for 8 long months. During this time, many things happened; chief of which was the United States entry into the Great War. George found himself holding a draft letter one day after work, and Winnie was struck by a horrible fear that she would lose her husband to war. George told his wife he would do his duty and head for basic training as assigned in the letter.

It was here at basic, that he met Joseph Rogers; brought back into active duty with the outbreak of the War. The two men found themselves fast in friendship and comradely, and as fate would have it they would both serve in the 107th infantry of New York in the same unit until their discharge; the same unit their sons would serve and represent years later; but that is a later story. While a basic, Winnie sent a telegram to George that the Numenorean Healer had declared that their child was a Boy by his examinations, and would most likely follow that trait into adulthood; masculine with a slight softness in the lips and face that would not be noticed unless it was looked for. The boy was now 8 month old, and Winnie sent a picture of the boy in her next letter. Joseph saw the picture and yearned for a child to call his own, and prayed that his beloved wife could carry the burden.

It was not until nearly December that Joseph returned home one last time to the little apartment in Brooklyn. It was his last time to be with his wife before he shipped out, before the end of the year, for England and Europe. His only solace was that he would not see his old home, or the men that tried to have his family killed in Ireland over three years before. Joseph loved his wife, and knew without a doubt that he might die before seeing her again. Joseph was a smart man and a practical one. He knew of the death rates in the trenches of the Western front, and though young he was, his family had seen many wars over the centuries and saw enough of death on the battlefield, that he knew the chances of him coming home unharmed were slim to none. Joseph was not afraid of dying, though he thought that he would live to see many centuries pass before that happened. Both he and his wife were three quarters elvish by blood, and felt the call of the Choice in their veins; but felt that the war would take that choice out of their hands. But Joseph was courageous and had a lion heart, and feared not the sight of battle. What he did fear was leaving his wife with an empty womb, and leaving the world without an heir to take on the name of Rogers, reclaim their home and lead their people into being one race and one kin once more. Joseph felt that an heir with his blood would unite the scattered houses of Numenor and rally them under one banner; united forever against the night and the darkness that dwells therein.

So it was that Joseph returned to his wife and lay with her, and he knew her in body and spirit; and in those moments Sarah conceived and became with child. Joseph was gone the next morning, and Sarah waved her goodbyes and kissed him one last time, before he boarded the ship that would take him away to war. ~*

* * *

The War was bloody; it was not like the wars that Joseph’s father had told him of, nor was it like the tales of his grandfather, faint though the memories were, of men in brightly colored uniforms and woolen coats. Joseph saw his men dying by the droves all around him, and with each new hour, Joseph thought that he would never hear from his wife again. A Chaplin was in their unit to help them deal with the horrors they saw every day, but Joseph could not speak with the man. Joseph was a young Corporal now, and had hopes that the new battle tactics being brought down from above would get him and his men out of the trenches and onto the fields. It was on this bright and early morn that Joseph was given a letter sent by his wife over a month before. Letters were a rare and wonderful treat on the front, for the men, and letters from their wives and sweethearts were even better.

When Joseph was handed the old letter, he thanked the letter carrier and sat down beside his closest buddy, George Barnes. Barnes was a Corporal himself, now, and was reading his own mail from home, when Joe sat down beside him. The two exchanged greetings, and Joseph settled in to read his letter. It was short and only one page long, but the contents within filled Joseph’s heart with joy unimaginable. The letter read thusly:

“ _My Dearest Joseph,_

_These last few months have not been the same without you. I find myself missing you in all the things I do these days that you would have been here to help with. I even find myself missing your horrendous snoring, in the early mornings and late at night. I started reading those medical journals from the library to see what this so called ‘modern medicine’ is all about, and, darling, it is all hogwash. These so called learned men don’t know a lick about how to heal a man or woman like our own Healers do. Why, you can heal better than what they can, and your gift of healing is not as strong as my own. The things that they say to do about some illnesses are absolutely barbaric! I want to scream and rave and thrash them about like ragdolls, by their lapels to make them see sense. It’s no wonder that more people die in hospitals, than are cured in them. If they had the Healing Halls of our ancestors and the knowledge that they had, people might actually go to the doctor if something is wrong, rather than wait until it is life and death._

_“Joseph, love, I wish you were here. And I wish that I could tell you this in person, but if it must be by the pen and letter, then so be it. I am pregnant, Joe; nearly three months along! If I am counting it right, then it was conceived the night before you left. I am due in late August or early September, and I hope to give you a picture, before you come home, to see him. I think it’s a boy, Joseph; in fact I know it is. Don’t ask me how, I just do. What I do want is a list of names for the baby; good strong Christian names. I want our baby to be an America child with an American name, so I think if we give it an American historical figure’s name for a middle name, instead of the traditional elvish ones, he might fit it with his school mates better. I love you, Joseph Arathan Rogers, and I miss you dearly. Come home soon, and be with us. Until then, be safe and be well._

_Yours forevermore in life and love,_

_Sarah”_

Joseph sat on his stool completely dumb, so great was his shock and joy. Soon a bright and wondrous smile creased his face and twitched his thin whiskers up in a smile of their own. A laugh started to build in his chest, small chuckles and giggles erupting from his mouth, as he read and reread the letter. Clutching the letter in his hands, he let out a shout of laughter and joy, jumping from his seat and wrapping his arms around Corporal Barnes; all the while laughing and shouting out his joy.

His laughter and joy was infectious, as the men around him began to laugh at his antics and smile themselves. Barnes looked at his friend as if he had gone completely mad.

                “Joe, what’s gotten into you?” he said, as he tried to pry Joseph off his person. Joseph pulled away, with a wide mouthed grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

                “Sarah’s Pregnant, George!” he cried, tears of joy running down his cheeks, as he continued to laugh, “We’re gonna have a baby!” At first Barnes was dumbfounded, until the reality of what his friend had said sank in, and then a goofy grin began to grow on his own face, until it became as wide as Joseph’s. Congratulations were called out from all over the trench; each man sharing his own joy over the good news brought in the old letter.

Joseph took out a pen and pulled a piece of paper out of his journal and penned a letter back to his wife; all the while a stupid grin splitting his face and lighting up his blue eyes.

_“My beloved wife, Sarah,_

_The news that you have given me has lifted my spirits and bolstered my strength. I never thought in my life I could be so happy, yet here I am, in the worst place in the world, and I cannot help but smile and laugh with joy._

_A baby! I could never wish for a greater gift than what you have given. That God has blessed us both again with a chance to become parents is wondrous. I write this letter to you a month after you sent yours, and the day I received it. I can only hope that this letter finds you in good health and strength, and our baby strong and on its way._

_I do so much hope that it is a boy, Sarah, if only to fulfill my desire for an heir to my House and that of my forebears. As for a name, I have always been fond of James, but that is far too common and I don’t want to curse our child with a name that is so popular in our neighborhood. Another choice could be Joshua, but I don’t think that it would fit._

_I have saved the best for last my dear. I have always heard the tale that Arthadan was amazed by the strength and wisdom of St. Stephen, and said that someday a man from his House would bear that name, and carry with him the courage and wisdom marked by the martyr. The more American version of the name is Steven, so we could name him that. Steven Rogers has a nice ring to it, and if you insist on giving him a name from some historical American hero, pick one from the American Civil War. Grant is a nice name, and it can double as a middle name. It is your choice, my love, but I do hope that you are well and so is the baby. You can name it whatever you wish, as long as it is healthy and all there._

_From Your loving Husband,_

_Joseph”_

With the letter penned and signed, Joseph grabbed an envelope and some stamps. He carefully wrote out the address and placed the stamps in the corner. Joseph ran quick as a flash to the Quartermaster, in hopes that he could have the letter mailed that day. And as luck would have it, the mail heading for home was just getting ready to be sent out and Joseph slipped in his letter with the rest.  Sarah got the letter faster than her husband got hers, but that didn’t matter. The moment she read the letter Sarah had a moment of clarity.

                “Steven Grant Rogers,” she said out loud to herself. Rubbing her belly, she mused over the name for a moment, and in her mind’s eye she saw a vision of the child she would bear: strong and tall, like Joseph, with her golden hair and his eyes. The man she saw, looked like every inch the Son of Arthadan’s House, and she saw the man, who looked like an old painting come to life, smile and call her mother. He was Arthadan’s living image, and she knew this was her son. She smiled and looked down at her belly. “I think it has a nice ring to it. Perfect. You have a long way to go, my little one, before you get there; I can only hope I will be a good enough mother to you.” Sarah smiled and rested her eyes.

A vision of what her child was to become, was what she saw, but not the son she would know. It was always Sarah who told her child that he could be more, and fixed within him a burning sense of moral goodness and justice, pride in country and in wanting to be better. It was Sarah that forged the man that would become Captain America. ~*

* * *

The day that everything changed was a bright and hot sunny morning on July the 4th 1918\. Sarah was finishing her work in the baby’s room, when it happened: a sharp lancing pain tore through her belly, from back to front, like a hot poker being drawn through her. Sarah fell too her knees, as an agonized scream was torn from her throat. The neighbor in the next apartment heard her cry out, and rushed to the door. He was a Widower with two children, and knew all too well the sound he had heard from the frail, young slip named Sarah Rogers. He pounded on the door, calling out her name and asking if she was alright. When he was answered by a low groan, he departed from proper decorum and broke the lock on the door.

As the door swung open, he was met with the sight of Sarah collapsed to her knees, holding her swollen belly and groaning in pain. The widower rushed to her side, and knelt down beside her. Gently he coaxed her attention to him and asked her what was wrong.

                “The baby,” she gasped, clutching her belly again. “I think he’s coming!” At this, she breaks down in tears. “It’s too early! He’s too early!”

Upon hearing this revelation, the widower picked up the pregnant Sarah and carried her out to his apartment. The widower had some money, and thus could afford such luxuries as a car and a single line telephone, and never was he more grateful than at his moment for such things. He set Sarah down on his sofa, before rushing to the phone and calling for a help. The operator directed him to the hospital, where a young doctor in charge answered the phone.

The widower relayed what had happened, and told the doctor that the woman needed a physician immediately. The doctor was instantly alert, the moment he heard the name Sarah Rogers; Sarah was his Nurse.

                “ _Sir,”_ he said to the man on the line, “ _you get that woman in a car, or any form of transportation, as fast as you can, and bring her here to the hospital. If she is who I think she is, both she and that baby are going to need every bit of help that medical science can give them.”_ The widower nodded, before asking for directions to the hospital. After quickly writing it down, the man ripped the note off the pad and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Picking up Sarah, he quickly rushed down the stairs as fast as he dared. He helped Sarah into the passenger seat of his brand new Ford, and started the engine. Slow though it was, it was safer than the trains or subways for Sarah and the Hospital was not far.

The Widower pushed the new car as fast as it would go, not daring to stop for fear that Sarah would have her baby right in his car. At an intersection, the traffic Cop stopped them with a smile, and asked why he was in such a hurry.  Sarah answered him by way of an agonized scream. The traffic cop went white with shock, and looked at Sarah, then the Widower.

                “The baby is early, and she needs a doctor,” was all he said, before the Policeman wove them on through and told him to get her to the Hospital. Thankfully it was not much further.

Upon arrival, Sarah looked up, and saw the hospital where she worked, and thanked God for small miracles. The doctors here knew that the baby was not due for a little over two months, and also knew that the baby would need special care. The doctors and nurses rushed out to help her onto a litter, and carried her into the hospital. The widower followed, and stayed in the waiting room while Sarah was being settled.

After unsuccessfully trying to stop the labor, Sarah’s waters broke and the baby was on its way. The next few hours were fraught with worry and tension, as Sarah progressed further into labor. All through the morning she labored, and into the afternoon and evening. Then, at 7:21PM in the Evening, on July the 4th, Sarah gave birth to a baby boy, just as she had hoped. But he was frail and weak, his cries no more than fragile whimpers and frail bleating; not the lusty cries of a newborn, and especially not the cries expected of a three quarter elvish Numenorean child. The doctors took one look at the child, and shook their heads in despair. They gave the child to her, and told her it might be best not to get too attached to him; that he might not last the night. Sarah refused to believe it, and smiled down at her baby boy.

He was frail and small, his body barely the length of her two palms end to end. His little head was brushed with the faintest wisps of golden hair, and his lashes were dark and thick. His body was all bony, like a baby bird, and he was thin and pale. He was the very image of a sickly child, but Sarah saw the strength within him, and knew in her heart that her boy would live. His little ears were pointed, like most Numenorean’s with a high amount of Elven blood, and Sarah expected them to round off as he grew older, and lose their elvish point.

In her eyes he was perfect, frail and fragile but perfect, because he was their son. “Steve,” she whispered to him, with a smile, “my little Steve. You are loved. You are perfect.” The doctors left her to the baby, and to wait out the night. The Widower came in hours later, and saw Sarah singing softly to her baby, as his slept in the incubator. It was a hunting sound, filled with longing and ancient sorrow, as it softly filled the room with its sound. Sarah placed her hand upon the glass, as she sang, next to her forehead. She smiled, and prayed to God that her baby would live.

                “Let him live, God,” she prayed, “take away this specter of death set upon his face, and let him live. Give him your Spirit, and make him whole. I will do anything, Lord; just don’t take my baby from me. Don’t take my only son.” The widower entered, and gave Sarah comfort and added his own prayers to hers; hoping against hope that the boy would live the night.

And against all odds and expectations, Little Steven Rogers survived. Frail though he may be in body, there was a heart of fire within him; and iron will to live and survive all that would accost him.

Half a world away, and across the Atlantic, at 10PM the 5th of July, a call rang out for Joseph. It was a messenger, bearing an unexpected telegram. Confused and shocked, Joseph signed for the telegram and opened the envelope. Inside was a short note that changed his life forever. There, written in black and white were four little words and a date: _“His name is Steven (stop) Born July 4 th 7:21PM (stop)”_

It is amazing how those four little words and a date could change Joseph’s perspective, but in the moment he read them, it was as if the whole world had shifted for him, and a new perspective was brought forward into crystal clear clarity.

                “I’m a father!” he breathed, with tears running down his face. Soon laughter and a bright smile erupted, as he began to realize just what had happened. “I’m a father! It’s a boy!” he laughed and cried, waking his fellow soldiers from their light doses. Congratulations rang out around the unit, as Joseph laughed and grinned like a loon.

Barely a month later Joseph and his unit met up with an Irish conscripted troupe. In it was Joseph’s own baby brother, Andrew. The reunion was bittersweet, and their time together again was brief, for the next day, Andrew was gunned down in No-Mans-Land while Joseph watched. The Corporal found himself turning back, and running towards the gunfire, instead of away from it. Joseph’s pistol rang out five times, as he neared his brother’s prone form, each shot hitting his target in the machine-gun nest. The 107th rallied behind him, and charged the trench, breaking the German lines once and for all, in the trench, as they turned and fled under the onslaught. Joseph grabbed his brother and hauled him over his shoulder, before carrying him back to the new trenches. It was here that Andrew Rogers breathed his last, in the arms of his elder brother, which had held him at birth. It seemed fate that the young would perish in the arms of those elder than them, and that the elder would bury the younger.

Joseph had no time to mourn the loss of his brother, for a plume of bright, yellow mustard gas swept in from across the lines. Joseph was one of the lucky ones; he managed to get his gas mask on, but not before inhaling a lung full of the burning fumes. The gas burned, and made him choke and cough in his gas-mask, but he held it on; hoping it would filter out the gas still in his breath. His eyes watered and his lungs burned, but when the enemy came in to reclaim the trenches, Joseph leaped up and turned the machine-guns on their former masters. It was hours later that the rest of the US army found him, still wearing his gas-mask, standing over the corpse of his baby brother; clinging to the machine-gun in his hands. The survivors of the attack called him a hero; told the others what he had done, but Joseph felt like none of that had happened. All that he could recall was his brother’s body hitting the ground and the feeling that he needed to save him.

Now any other man, in this time would have been commended and decorated. At the very least Joseph should have received the Medal of Honor, but all that the immigrant Irish boy Joseph Rogers received was a Purple Heart with Valor for defending the trench in the attack, while suffering from mustard gas poisoning, and an honorable medical discharge. George Barnes was even luckier; he was on leave when it happened, and saw Joseph in the medic tent, before Joseph was shipped home and George went back to the front.

You can imagine Sarah’s joy, when she got the news her husband was coming home; bittersweet though it was. Joseph was badly scarred by the attack on the 107th, and it left him with a bad wheeze to his breath, where there hadn’t been before. In the end, though, it didn’t matter; Sarah met her husband at the docks, just as he stepped off the ship. The tightness in his chest eased a bit, when he saw her whole and hail.

                “I missed the birth, Sarah,” he said with a slightly raspier voice. Sarah smiled and took his hand. Joseph looked around for a carriage, before Sarah’s laughter brought his gaze back to her.

                “He is with the neighbors, until I can take you home,” she said, with a slightly bitter twist to her smile, “the smoke from the ships will irritate his lungs. I didn’t want him getting sick the day you came home.” Joseph grinned and took his wife’s hand, bringing it to his lips in a chivalrous kiss. Sarah giggled and tugged him toward home.

When he entered the door, he was met with the smell of sweet milk and baby powder. It brought a smile to his face, and life to his deadened eyes. He looked about the room and greeted the neighbor politely, before his gaze set upon an even sweeter sight: the baby’s cradle. Setting his duffel bags down gently and walking with silent steps, Joseph walked toward the cradle, and peered down at his first born Son. In the three months since his birth, little Steve Rogers had put on enough baby fat and color to look healthy, but he was still tiny. To Joseph’s eyes he looked like a little porcelain doll; pale skin with only a hint of healthy color, little pink lips budding on his mouth, and eyelashes that were so dark and thick they looked painted on. Sarah leaned on her husband’s shoulder with a smile.

                “Do you want to hold him, Love?” she asked. Joseph looked at her with alarm and shock, before his gaze turned back to the baby.

                “I dare not touch him,” he said in a quiet voice. “He looks so fragile, could break him with my big hands.” Sarah chuckled at her husband’s unfounded fear. She stepped forward, scooped Steve up into her arms, and deposited him in the arms of his dumbstruck father. Joseph froze for a moment then eased, and relaxed his arms around the baby; moving him gently to settle him better in his arms. An amazed smile swept across his face, as he held Steve. “He’s so tiny!” he breathed, “he looks like me, Sarah. He’s got your hair.” The couple laughed, as Joseph continued to name off features they could recognize in themselves. Then Steve moved and squirmed in his father’s arms, before opening his mouth in a big yawn. Joseph smiled at it, and then found his breath stolen, when Steve opened his eyes and gazed back and his father for the first time, with a familiar set of deep blues. “Oh, my boy,” Joseph gasped. “My beautiful baby boy, I love you so much; my son; my only son.” Steve grinned and reached up to grasp at his father’s cap. With a smile on his face, Joseph looked at his wife with tears of joy in his eyes. Sarah told him while in hospital, through letters, that Steve was not healthy, but in Joseph’s eyes, in that moment, he was perfect. “What’s his name?”

                “Steven Grant Rogers,” she answered proudly. “He’s small now, but he’ll grow. I know he will.”

                “Steven Grant eh?” he questioned, as he looked back at his boy, “you look like a Grant, eh Steve?” the baby boy giggled and grabbed for the medal pinned to Joseph’s breast. “Oh, you’re gonna be a trouble maker, aren’t ya, Stevie boy? Yer gonna run your mum ragged, when you learn to walk, aren’t ya? Yes, you will.” Joseph smiled and talked to his son, all the while is brogue getting thicker and more pronounced as he talked. With a smile, Sarah said goodbye to the neighbor, and went about making dinner; singing softly old elvish songs under her breath.

Less than a month later, the War was over and the soldiers were sent home to their families. George Barnes came home to a son just beginning to walk, and would be two years old in less than four months.

End of chapter 1

 

 


	2. Childhood to War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spanning the long time-gap between Steve's Father coming home and Bucky pulling Steve out of the back-alley fight.  
> Warning: Character Death, Prostitution, graphic descriptions of birth, and child death.  
> have a tissue handy.

Chapter 2: Childhood to War

It was common knowledge that Steve and Bucky met at a young age but some don’t know just how young they were.  It was the roaring twenties; Bucky was five and Steve had just turned four. The two boys had met in a back ally fight; Steve was losing and it seemed that the older bullies wouldn’t stop pounding on him until he was dead. Then out of nowhere, came Bucky; flying in with fists of fury, a whirlwind against the bigger boys. The gang soon decided Steve was not worth the trouble Bucky brought, and took off for home to lick their wounds. Bucky turned and helped Steve back to his feet, before sticking out his hand and introducing himself.

                “Name’s James Buchanan Barnes, pal; but my friends call me Bucky,” he said with all the pride of a five year old could give over such a name. “What’s your name?” Steve looked up at the older boy after dusting off his pants. With a sheepish smile, he grasped Bucky’s hand and shook it.

                “Steve,” he answered, “Steve Rogers. I need to get goin’ now. My Mom will be mad if I miss supper.” Steve thumbed toward the apartment complex where he and his family lived. Bucky broke out in a bright grin, before offering to walk him home.

                “My family lives in a house on that block,” he said. “I can have ya home in time to fix you up before supper.” Steve was dubious for a moment then smiled gratefully. Together the two boys walked back to Steve’s home, chatting amiably about things like school, then Baseball. Steve loved the sport and had a whole collection of baseball cards in his room. Bucky admitted that he had a whole shoebox full hidden under his bed; hidden from his baby brother, Mattie’s grubby fingers. In no time, the two boys were on the front steps of Steve’s apartment building. They walked up together and were met with the sounds of coughing from within the rooms. The door opened, and there stood Steve’s mother, hands on her hips, and a pale worried face behind frizzled blond hair.

                “Steven Grant Rogers, where have you been?” she demanded, when she took in his wrinkled clothes and dirtied pants. She sagged, when she realized he was in another fight. “Stevie, you know I don’t like you fighting.” Her eyes then set on Bucky, and she was confused. Bucky was just as dirtied and a bit less bruised but he was grinning. In a slightly awed ton she asked, “Stevie, who’s this?”

                “James Buchanan Barnes, Mrs. Rogers, ma’am,” Bucky answered, with a smile and warm eyes. “My friends call me Bucky. I pulled Steve here out of a fight with the McGullin brothers.” Bucky was all pride when he said this. “My pa says it isn’t right for big guys to gang up on a little guy, so I helped him out.” Steve bristled a bit at being called out for losing.

                “I had ‘em on the ropes,” he said, and Bucky laughed.

                “I know you did,” Bucky answered with a fond smile.

Sarah watched the exchange with a loving and very happy smile. Steve needed a friend, and now he has one. And Sarah, always one to take advantage of a situation, asked Bucky if he would like to stay for supper. Bucky told them that he was expected back home, but said he would come back later if the offer was open. “At least come in for a drink, dear. It’s hot, today and I made fresh lemonade.” That got Bucky to agree and he entered the apartment.

Inside was warm and homey, if a bit run down, but it was well cared for. The young Barnes boy looked about with all the curiosity of a five year old about new places, and stopped when he was met with the source of all the coughing: there sitting in an old lounging chair, was Joseph Rogers. He was still a big man to Steve and Bucky, but he had lost a lot of his strength over the years to the scarring on his lungs from the gas. He could no longer work such hard and long days at the docks, and the struggling family suffered for it. Sarah had to pick up several new shifts from the Hospital just to keep them afloat. She was even considering a position as a nurse in the TB ward; the money was better and so were the hours. It was a great risk to go in as a nurse in that ward, but Sarah felt that she could do more good there and the extra pay could help them set aside a nest egg for Steve’s future. For now, Sarah just focused on helping her ailing husband through a bought with a chest cold. Joseph kept a handkerchief in hand at all times to prevent him from spreading the germs to poor little Steve; whose immune system was shot to hell and back. The two parents didn’t want to risk Steve’s health even more than they had. Steve had just gotten over a cold that had developed into Rheumatic fever, and had left him with a weakened heart. Their poor little Stevie has a laundry list of health issues that just kept getting longer every day; the heart was the most resent problem, with his lungs showing early signs of asthma.

Joseph looked up from his chair and saw the young boys, and gave them a bright and shining smile. That was something both Joseph and Steve had in common: when they smiled, it was like the sun turned its warmth and goodness on full blast at the recipient.

                “Well, hello there,” he croaked out. Joseph’s once rich voice was reduced to a rasp in the last year from the frequent colds and poor nutrition. His kindness was ever bright, never faltering and he never failed to smile at his little boy; at his only son. (With Joseph’s ill health and the poor monetary income the two parents had, the couple realized that Steve would be their only child; no heir and a spare for the Rogers family. When Steve died, the unbroken line of the House of Arthadan would die with him.) “And what’s your name, _Pen neth_?” He asked with his gaze on Bucky. (Young one) Little Bucky Barnes puffed up his chest and proudly proclaimed:

                “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, sir, but my friends call me Bucky.” Joseph smiled warmly at the boy and tried to make his face serious while failing miserably. Joseph chuckled a bit before the laughter dissolved into a deep, watery and rattling cough. Joseph covered his mouth as his coughed up blood-tinged mucus from his already damaged lungs. Sarah quickly brought him a glass of cool water to ease his raw throat, and Joseph downed it gratefully. When he emptied the glass, he turned his too old eyes back on the boy and scrutinized him.

                “Barnes, eh?” he asked, and Bucky nodded. “I knew a Barnes once, back in the 107th during the War. Your father wouldn’t happen to be George Barnes, would he?” Joseph raised his eyebrow in a knowing look. Bucky nodded rapidly, so fast that his dark mop was a blur. Joseph smiled brightly again.

                “That’s my Pa,” Bucky said happily, “Corporal Barnes of the 107th infantry of New York. Were you his friend?” Bucky asked. Joseph nodded and told him that they were in the same unit together. The little boy smiled and asked if they were friends.

                “We were friends, for my part,” he said softly, and reached out to stroke Bucky’s dark brown locks away from his forehead, “and if you are James, then he spoke of you often and very fondly.” Bucky smiled shyly and ducked his head. Before he could answer, Sarah asked Steve if Bucky was staying for supper. Steve told her that Bucky had to be home. So with a smile and a few cookies in hand, Bucky went home; not before promising to have Steve over for supper later in the week to introduce him to his family.

True to his word, Bucky invited Steve over for supper later, and the Barnes parents think Steve is adorable. This is where Bucky finds out that Steve likes to draw, and begins to indulge his new friend’s hidden talent. The Barnes realize quickly, that Steve and his family are having a hard time; especially Steve’s father with his damaged lungs. With things being good for them the past few years, and with a new baby in the house, Winnie and George work out a scheme to have Steve over more often with Joseph so as to help with some of the burdens laid on poor Mrs. Rogers’s shoulders.

Their plans seem to work for a while: George and Joseph spend time together in George’s privet study chatting amicably, while Steve and Bucky play games together and entertain little Matteus Barnes, only three years old. Sarah gets a bit of light back in her eyes and the dark shadows disappear from under her eyes, showing that she has had a goodnights rest more frequently. Steve even seemed to be gaining strength, his bony limbs filling out a bit more and his face looking less gaunt. That all changed on a sunny spring morning on May Day.

It started out like any other day, Steve and Bucky playing and roughhousing a bit as they looked at each other’s baseball cards. Joseph was at the docks for once, having felt strong enough to work and his lungs not acting up on him. Sarah was working hard at the Ward when the news came in: there was a confirmed outbreak of the Spanish Flu in Brooklyn, in Sarah’s neighborhood. Sarah looked at the notice with something akin to numb shock before the realization and the fear kicked in: that was her neighborhood, where her weak and precious little boy lived and played. A single thought ran through Sarah’s mind as she rushed to find a telephone: Warn Joseph, and get Steve the medicine to stave it off. There was little to no doubt in her mind that Steve would catch it; Steve’s immune system was so weak that he couldn’t fight off a cold when it came in the area. He would always get better, but he stood no chance of surviving against the Spanish Flu; a pathogen that had killed healthy, strong, full grown men.

She found a phone, thankfully with no one at it and called for the operator to ring the dock yards where Joseph was working. Sarah waited for what felt like an eternity before the foreman picked up the line. With immense relief, Sarah begged the foreman to put her husband on the phone. With a grunt and light grumble, Sarah heard him holler out to her husband that his wife was on the phone. The moment Joseph took the receiver from the foreman, he knew something was wrong.

                “Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asked trying to calm his tightly wound nerves.

                “Joe,” she said in a slightly panicked and hushed voice, “I need you to get over to the Barnes’ place and get Stevie to a doctor.” At the word doctor, the hair on the back of Joseph’s neck stood on end.

                “A doctor?” he exclaimed, “why? What’s wrong, Sarah? What’s happened?”

                “There’s been an outbreak of the Spanish Flu in our neighborhood, Joe,” she said in a hushed and frightened tone. “We need to get Stevie to a doctor so we can get him the proper medicine to maybe stave off this attack.”

Joseph didn’t hear her after he heard the words “Spanish Flu,” and “in our neighborhood”. Joseph had lost good friends to the Great Pandemic Flu, and to hear that there was another outbreak was terrifying enough, but to hear that his only Child might contract the illness chilled him to the bone. Steve was so frail when he was sick, and could never last against such a virulent pathogen as the Spanish Flu. Joseph answered his wife and took down her orders on autopilot before hanging up the phone. The foreman was there at his shoulder, with a grim and pale face. For once in his life, Joseph was glad the older man was a snoop and an eavesdropper, for the older man told him to take the rest of the afternoon off, and get to his boy. Thankful beyond belief, Joseph all but ran to gather his things and get home.

He ran the whole distance from the docks to the Barnes home, not even once feeling his lungs constrict and drop him to the ground. He took the stairs in one long leap and crossed the porch in a single stride.  The front door was open, so Joseph rushed inside and found his son playing happily with Bucky. Joseph’s relief was so great, that he physically sagged against the doorframe between the rooms. George spotted him first, and stood up with a shocked smile; a smile that fled at the sight of Joseph’s pale and panicked face.

                “What’s wrong, Joe,” he asked and tried to laugh, “You look like death. Did somebody die?” Joseph shook his head and numbly walked over to his son. Steve looked up and smiled to see his father home from work early. Dropping his toys, he reached up and made grabby hands at Joseph to be picked up. Joseph knelt down and pulled Steve into a crushing hug; clutching his boy and kissing his head. Joseph started, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was George, and he had a worried and grim look on his face. “Was it Sarah?” he asked, quietly.  Joseph shook his head numbly and pulled Steve closer into his chest.

                “Flu,” was all he could gasp out in fear. “There was an outbreak near here; a bad one. I need to get Stevie to a doctor.” George paled in fright and looked over at his two little boys. Bucky was fairly strong and healthy but this flu killed healthy victims and little Steve would have no chance if he caught it.

                “Go,” he said to Joseph as he picked up his own boys. “We’ll be right behind you.” Winnie and George grabbed their children and rushed to the nearest hospital. There was no vaccination back then, so George and Winnie were given the Anti-viral vials just in case. Steve on the other hand was given immunity boosting shots and the vial before Joseph was told strictly that Steve was to avoid contact with anyone who could have the illness. Steve wasn’t happy when this meant that he and Bucky couldn’t play together until the outbreak and past, but Joseph said that he would play with him until it was over.

In all reality, the protection they received was all for naught. Not but three days later, Steve woke up with a really sore throat and a very high fever. Joseph was gripped with fear as his beloved wife called for a doctor. The doctor confirmed that Steve had the flu, but was unsure as to whether or not it was the Pandemic version seen the year he was born. Bucky visited with George and Winifred to help Sarah care for her ailing son. He was kept out of the room for the most part, but Bucky always snuck in to see him when Steve was sick.

 It was this dangerous action that more than likely saved Steve’s life; for when he went in to see him, Steve’s fever had spiked and his cheeks were a splotchy red. Terror gripped Bucky’s heart; every kid in the neighborhood knew the first signs of Scarlet Fever, and Steve had them.

Bucky screamed for Sarah at the top of his lungs, and the two parents came running. Sarah turned deathly white, when she saw Steve’s scarlet face, and rushed into the room. Only Joseph remained at the door. He was coughing badly and wheezing, his face drawn and pale. Joseph was sick again; very sick.

Sarah sent Bucky home and told him not to return until the doctor said Steve was no longer contagious. It didn’t much matter at that point; Bucky had been around Steve and hadn’t gotten sick, but he wasn’t the only one in his family that could get sick, now, was he? Bucky returned home to his family sad and a little scared. He liked Steve and didn’t want to lose his best friend. His little sister had been sent away to stay with their grandparents outside the city in hopes that the illness would not get to her there. Mattie was his typical smiling self that morning, but when Bucky came home, he was already in bed. He had complained that his head hurt and he felt funny before Winifred sent him to bed early. He seemed to have only a mild fever and would be well with some rest.

Bucky didn’t think anything of it, until he was woken in the middle of the night by his father. Groggy and confused, he blinked up blurrily at the figure. When his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw that his father was sitting on his bed holding his hand. There were tears on his face, and Bucky was frightened.

                “What happened,” he asked. Bucky fearfully sat up and looked at his father’s sorrowful face. A cold dread seized his heart as he thought about Steve. “Did Steve… Did he…” Bucky couldn’t get the words past the big lump in his throat, as tears welled up in his blue eyes. “Is he gone?” his father shook his head slowly, but the relief was short lived when his father started to cry.

                “James,” he said with a breaking voice, “little Mattie died!”

 At first, Bucky was numb; his father never called him James unless he did something bad or something bad had happened. He couldn’t believe that his baby brother, only three years old, was gone. Then when the shock wore off, the tears came and George opened his arms. Bucky flung himself at his father and began to sob.

Bucky had prayed for Steve to live. He’d said he would do anything, give anything for his friend to pull through; and in the mind of a five year old the fact that his brother was dead not hours after he said he would give anything for his friend’s life, meant that he had traded his brother for Steve. Bucky cried all the harder, when he told his father this, and the wise old man said that was not how prayers worked; how God worked.

“Mattie wasn’t feeling well all day, sweetie. The fact that you prayed for Steve to live has nothing to do with it. Your brother got sick, and he just didn’t get better.” George held Bucky even tighter, when he continued to blame himself over it.

*~

 

* * *

 

Over at the Rogers house, things weren’t looking good for Joseph Rogers. The cough he’d had before, when the doctor examined Steve and gave him the medicine he needed for the Scarlet Fever, had gotten worse and had developed into full blown pneumonia. Normally Joseph would have been able to fight off the sickness before it developed into pneumonia, but between his constant worry over Steve’s frail health as he battled the flu, the poor nutrition and his badly scarred and damaged lungs, Joseph had no chance. Each new coughing spasm brought up dark bloody phlegm, and his lips began to tinge blue. A doctor was called the next morning to examine Joseph, when he showed no signs of recovering on his own. Little Steve’s fever had finally broken and he seemed to be on the mend, but Sarah took no chances and gave him a face mask to cover his nose and mouth to keep him from breathing in more germs.

The atmosphere at the apartment was already grim, when the news came that Matteus had died in the night, so it only seemed to get bleaker. It was later that night, when Joseph called for his wife. Sarah sat down in the chair by the bed and grasped her husband’s hand in her own. Joseph smiled weakly with bloody lips at his lovely wife.

                “Sarah,” he rasped, “my love; my heart. Do not blame yourself; you could not have stopped this. I knew this would happen eventually. I have been living on borrowed time, my love. Ever since that day all those years ago, I knew I would die young. I have no regrets, _meldonya_. I was given a gift, and I can only hope that I have used it well.” Joseph was stopped by a coughing fit that left him gasping and his breaths watery. Sarah handed him a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. When he gathered his breath, he continued. “Sarah, my time is ending,” he said and Sarah choked on a sob. “Hush, now, my love. It’ll be alright. I was given a wonderful gift, but I cannot remain. Sarah, get our son. I must speak with him.” Sarah nodded and quickly went to get Steve. When she returned, Joseph was even paler than before, and his eyes were dark and sunken. He looked like a corpse. The only thing proving that he wasn’t was his shallow breathing and the rattle in his chest. He looked up and smiled warmly at his son. “ _Ion nin,_ ” he spoke softly in elvish, “ _Á tulë sinomë.”_ (My son, come here.) Steve approached his father’s side slowly. Joseph smiled and urged him closer. “ _Yonya, Mauya nin avánië,_ ” (my boy, I need to go.) At his words Steve gasped and clutched his father’s hand.

                “ _Ú!”_ he cried shaking his head. Joseph smiled softly and sadly. (No!)

                “ _Áva sorya,”_ (Don’t worry,) he said stroking Steve’s face and wiping away his tears. “ _We will see each other again, someday.”_ Steve began to cry in earnest now, “ _Nai! Do not cry, Yonya. It will be alright. Yonya, my beautiful son, be strong for your mother, and don’t lose hope! Someday you will outshine the sun and the stars themselves, and be as strong as the ancient and mighty Mellyrn trees.”_ (No… my boy.) Joseph laughed and began to cough for a moment. Steve tried his best to stop the flow of tears but found that he could not. Joseph ran his hand over Steve’s cheek and cupped it tenderly, rubbing away the tears with his thumb. “ _I wish I could stay and see you grow, but I cannot; the Halls of Mandos are calling to me, and I have not the strength to refuse him any longer. Le melin, Steven. Make me proud, and don’t make the same mistakes I did. Listen to your mother, and follow her wishes, and you will never go wrong._ _Namárië, Yonya. Be strong for your mother, and listen to your heart; you will never fail. Keep fighting, never stop; no matter how bad it looks.”_ Joseph’s breaths grew weak as he looked back to his wife. “Take him to his room, Sarah. He doesn’t need to see this.” (I love you, Steven …farewell, my boy.) With tears on her face, Sarah picked up Steve; who immediately started sobbing into her shirt. Once inside his room, Steve buried himself under his covers to block out the sounds in the next room. Moments later there was a knock on the door, and the muffled sounds of a man entering.

                “ _Many blessings and strength to you and your son, my lady Rogers,”_ the muffled voice of the man said beyond the door. It was their parish priest, Michael Cúthalion. (Numenorean churches were rare in America, and the Rogers were lucky to find one at all in Brooklyn.) Whatever he said next was quieter and more subdued, because Steve couldn’t hear it. His hearing was still muffled from the Fever, and the doctor said he might never hear well again; perhaps even lose his hearing in his left ear, for it had taken the most damage. Steve stayed huddled under his blankets for a while and soon had drifted off to sleep.

He was woken several hours later by his mother. Steve blinked up at her and saw that her face was red with tears and her eyes bloodshot. Steve’s lip wobbled and new tears fell with the realization that something bad had happened.

                “Darling,” Sarah said as her eyes filled with new tears, “Daddy… your daddy’s gone, honey.”

                “Where’d he go?” Steve asked, upset and frightened. Sarah gave her son a watery smile, before swallowing hard the lump in her throat.

                “Your Daddy’s in heaven, sweetheart,” she said with big fat tears running silent down her face; “with you big sister and his father.”

                “When’s he comin’ back?” Steve asked with all the innocence of a four year old child. Sarah choked on a laugh and began to cry.

                “Oh, Honey!” she exclaimed, “He’s not coming back. Daddy died, sweetheart … he’s heaven with God and the Angels.” Steve began to cry and sob, crying out for his daddy while clinging to his mother’s dress.

Joseph was buried the next day, in a small plot in their church cemetery in Brooklyn. The grave stone was not grand, nor was it overly large and ornate. It was a simple granite stone marker with a metal plaque on the back, and inlaid metal lettering on the front. The letters read thusly:

“Joseph Arathan Rogers, of the 107th infantry of New York: Corporal. Born: December 7th 1893, Ireland; Died: May 8th 1923, Brooklyn, New York. ‘ _It is not how long you live, but what you do with the time that you are given._ He lived bravely, fought with courage, and died with Family. Beloved Husband, loving Father.’”

Sarah and Steve stood before the grave with sadness and weary despair. The doctor told Sarah that her husband had died as a result of the Mustard Gas he inhaled in the War; that the scaring on his lungs had become infected and gave him pneumonia. He said flat out “I am shocked that he even lived a few weeks with this kind of damage, let alone nearly five years!” Sarah smiled and told him that Joseph was made from tougher stuff than most, and was very strong. She glanced at her son, with his bleak expression of grief and felt her eyes water, before she paid the man, and let him out.

*~

* * *

 

For a while it seems that the two boys would drift apart and their friendship would dissolve into fond memory, until Steve got into another fight with a gang of older and bigger boys. Just like the first time, Bucky waded into the fight and drove off the bullies, saving Steve and rekindling their friendship even stronger than before. Bucky seemed to forgive himself over the time they spent apart and the new six-year-old Bucky was wiser after going to school for a year. Steve would only be a year behind the boy in class grade, so the two would be able to play together on the schoolyard.  Steve was looking forward to his fifth birthday and wanted to have Bucky there.

The two boys became inseparable after that fight. And in a way it would be the first fight that would be reflected in all the others.

                “Sometimes I think you like getting punched,” Bucky said fondly once the bullies were gone and Steve was picking himself up from the dirt. To which Steve replied somewhat sourly:

                “I had ‘em on the Ropes.” Bucky just smiled and laughed at the scrappy kid, before slinging a friendly arm around his shoulder.

                “I know you did,” he answered with a smile and Steve smiled back. “Come on, Steve. Stick with me, and we’ll have ‘em on the ropes together.” Steve looked back with caution and then beamed a bright and joyful smile at his friend. Bucky looked at the kid and thought _‘God, this kid can still smile, after everything, like that? You sure are special, Steve Rogers. A bit of a punk, but still: Special.’_ it was in this moment that Bucky realized he would do anything to see Steve smile and to have him as his friend. Steve had that effect on people, even back then: to make them see the good in the world and try to make it better than it was; to try and be better as a person. Steve was a prince at heart and some people saw that; the way he was kind to even the nastiest old man on the block, and used himself as a target to get bullies away from even smaller kids. Steve had a heart of gold, ten times the size of his frail body, and many good people knew it.

From then on the two boys were inseparable; where one went, the other was seen not far away. The two of them would play together at home and at school during break hour. Steve’s mother encouraged this time spent together, for it meant that she could have someone watching Steve while she worked.  Things were hard for the widowed mother, and Sarah found that she might not be able to keep their apartment if she didn’t get a pay raise. As a result, Sarah took a permanent position as a nurse in the Infectious disease ward. The pay was significantly higher, and would allow her to continue putting away money for Steve’s further schooling.

It was after one particularly long and hard shift in the winter of ’24, that Sarah took a long look at her son and realized if he didn’t use his head, then he might not make it to his twentieth birthday. That night while she was resting in bed, she told Steve to be brave and to use his head. Sarah knew her boy was smart, even if he didn’t act it sometimes, and that he could figure things out quick when he needed to. She told him that even though he was small he had a heart within him like that of a great warrior ten times the size of his frail body. Steve seemed to understand that and smiled.

                “Promise me, Stevie, that you will use your head,” she asked, holding his hand in her own. “Your father was a brave man, but he was hasty in his actions sometimes: he never thought them through. I don’t want you dying because of that, my sweet one.” Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the picture of Joseph and his unit, taken bare months before he and his unit got poisoned with the Gas and sent home. Joseph looked so strapping and sharp in his uniform with his big smile and thin mustache. Steve wanted to be like his father someday, be a big strong soldier, and Sarah knew there would be no stopping him once he tried. Like father, like son, she would think as he played with his tin soldiers on the floor. “Use your head, Steve, and maybe someday you will be a big hero like your father.”

                “I don’t want to be a hero, mom,” Steve said with a serious face that did not belong on a six-year-old boy. “I just want to do what’s right. Maybe that makes me lame or somethin’ but I just want to make sure that bullies don’t get away with what they’re doin’.” Sarah felt a bit in awe at the honesty and nobility that shone from Steve’s eyes, and again in her mind’s eye she could see that big man with Arthadan’s face in a strange uniform, and her Steve’s smile; just like Joseph’s smile. Sarah smiled and held her boy’s hand, asking him to promise that he would think first, and use his head. “I promise, Ma,” he said. “I swear before God and the Angels that I will keep my promise; and for you, Ma, I will keep It.” an Oath of purity and honor, that no boy his age should be able to make, but Sarah wondered again as Steve just did. Steve went back to his playing and Sarah looked at her husband’s photo with wonder and sorrowed love, all the while thinking:

                ‘ _You would be proud of him, Joe. He is every bid your son, and the son of your house. What a wonder we have created together. I hope he will never lose his faith nor lose his good heart.’_

Of course as with all things, time must move forward and things must either begin or end, and for Sarah Rogers, her tale is reaching its end.

The work she did in the ward was long and grueling, but Sarah was paid handsomely for it. But with all good things, it comes with a price. Steve’s frail health meant that he needed medicine and that meant longer hours at the ward caring for patients and dealing with the sick and dying. With the rise of TB, nurses were needed in the ward more than ever, but many thought the pay, handsome though it was, was not enough to risk their own health and the health of their families to deal with the contagious patients. As a result there was a shortage of nurses on the TB ward, and with a little bit of negotiation, Sarah got the job and a very nice bonus for every time she worked the ward. She told the man that she would need the money for the medicine for her son, and if she was going to risk his health for the job, then she better be paid enough to cover for the medicine needed to keep him healthy and not get sick.

The extra pay meant that she could afford to get him a proper inhaler with good medicine and a doctor’s visit to check his heart and ears. Over the years, Steve’s heart had gathered a significant palpitation and his hearing on the left side had gotten worse. The doctor visit, paid for with the extra money, also diagnosed a new ailment that she had no idea he had: colorblindness. Her little baby boy was almost completely colorblind. It didn’t seem to faze his artistic talent; it just limited what he could do. He loved working with colors, but he didn’t know what they really were. All he saw were washed out and muddied colors. He saw no reds and blues were faded; yellows were almost non-existent save for a faint suggestion, and greens might as well have been brown for all he could tell. He didn’t mind, he just couldn’t tell. Sarah wept for her child to be so handicapped by so many illnesses and physical deformities. The diabetes was new, and required him to take pills but not injections for insulin, but the spine was something that both she and Joe had known about since Steve was a little toddler.

Sarah prayed every night that Steve would get well and become the strong man from her visions, but that day it seemed to be all for naught. Steve moped around for a bit before Bucky came over and cheered him up. If there was anything that never failed to make Steve smile again, after a long day with grim doctors, it was Bucky. The dark haired boy was a ray of sunshine in both Steve’s and Sarah’s lives.

He was there for everything, including the day that Steve, at 15, had a heart attack. That day scared Bucky and Sarah out of ten years of their lives: seeing Steve on the table, pale as death, as the doctors put drugs into his system to get his heart to calm down. Steve pulled through, as he always did, but fatigued more easily than before; his weakened heart not able to take rigorous exercise any more. That didn’t stop him from getting into fights or taking on bullies twice his size; if anything, Steve tried even harder to prove that he could beat them on his own. Sarah despaired at Steve’s actions but at least she had Bucky to help rein Steve in and patch him up.

It was on Steve’s eighteenth birthday that the ward finally caught up with Sarah, and she fell ill. At first it seemed like just a mild cough that persisted, but weeks later the rattle was still there and Sarah was knocked down by long hard coughing fits that left her lightheaded and out of breath.

Sarah refused to believe she was sick until several months later, in the winter at the start of ’35; Sarah had a coughing fit in the hospital ward and coughed up blood. Sarah was taken to be examined and the diagnosis was what they had feared: TB and it had already damaged her lungs. Isolation was the only thing to do along with the medication that might help her get better. Sarah was worried that Steve wouldn’t be able to afford his medicine or to continue going to art school with her sick, but Steve insisted that she get whatever she needed. It wasn’t like he had never had work; he did.

He shined shoes when he was younger for change, with Bucky, so he could get new baseball cards and comics; well, Bucky got the comics, Steve got real books. He later worked around the local shops helping with stocking and bagging groceries. Steve insisted he could help, and Sarah could not stop him. Bucky did what he could to help: a bit of food here and there at his house, to help stretch the money and save on food; every bit helped. Steve still got sick every cold and flu season, but instead of his mother caring for him it was Bucky and the Barnes family. When he was sick he stayed at their place, because the heat was warmer and the beds softer on his crooked spine. Months past, and still Sarah had not recovered. Steve began to worry that she might not recover.

Steve still vividly remembered the night his mother took him out to see his father one last time before he died, and Sarah holding him as he cried, after telling him. Steve did not like that memory, but it stuck like glue in his mind as he thought about his mother’s failing health. After one really bad bout with the flu, Steve got a letter from the isolation ward telling him that they were sending his mother home. When he arrived, the doctor made it clear that she was no longer contagious, and if he was going to catch it, he would have been sick already; but he also told him that it wasn’t likely that Sarah would survive another season. Steve’s heart plummeted to the floor, when he heard and clenched his jaw to keep himself from crying in front of the doctor.

 Bucky came by later, and found him sitting in his father’s old chair looking distraught and pale. Bucky rushed in and asked if something had happened to Sarah. The shake of Steve’s dull gold head, eased the vice around Bucky’s chest a little, but not completely.

Later the two of them were found by Becca, Bucky’s younger sister, and Victoria, the second sister. Steve was red-faced drunk and Bucky was looking a bit green. Steve had told Bucky that his mother was dying, and he had to drop out of school to pay for the medical bills. Steve was sad and depressed and Bucky felt that he needed a drink to get him out of his shell. Three hours later and one very expensive bottle of Irish whiskey later (Joe’s personal stock), Steve was drunk enough to breakdown in tears on his best friend’s chest, and Bucky was feeling really lousy. Steve had everything taken from him, and his family had to scrimp and save for simple necessities; the two Rogers were barely getting by, and now this. Steve might be able to stay at the apartment a few weeks after his mother dies, but after that, Steve won’t have a home anymore. Memories of the two of them together under the roof of the apartment flood Bucky’s mind, as he tries not to get sick over the thought that it was going to be all over for Steve.

The two Barnes sisters glare at the drunken friends, and haul them off to bed. Steve is put on the mattress and Bucky on the floor; a bucket and a bottle of aspirin are set on the nightstand and on the floor for each of them. In the morning Bucky has a migraine of a hangover, and swears off hard booze and mixing heavy emotions for life, while Steve drags the bucket over to the side of the bed and throws up. With a fond and disgusted smile, Bucky helps Steve into the bathroom to brush his teeth and gives him the aspirin. It hits him as Steve is gulping down the water and pill, that the two of them could share an apartment together. Bucky is doing well at work and school, but once the semester ends he can leave for a while until things get better and work at the docks full time; just until they get their feet under them. _‘Steve could go back to art school, or take classes at the community center,_ ’ Bucky thought. With those bright thoughts in his mind, he begins to plan.

~*

Money is the first thing they will need, and Bucky has a small horde stashed away under his mattress in his room. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Steve has the nest egg that Joseph and Sarah set aside for Steve to go to school with. ‘ _It might pay for some good classes later_ ,’ Bucky thinks as Steve sits down in his chair by the window with a sketchbook and pencil. Bucky realized that he can’t let Steve spend that money on anything less than what his parents intended it for: his education. That leaves very little money for rent, food, and definitely not enough for Steve’s medicine. A dark and desperate thought reminds him of his difference, and the few people outside his family that found out.

‘ _I could sell myself_ ,’ he thought, and swallowed hard as he heard Sarah cough hard from her room. ‘ _Mitch always said that some men would pay top dollar to take my virginity.’_ Bucky thought about the offer that the bootlegger gave a few years back, and wondered if the gangster’s connections with the mob were high enough to set up an auction, with his virginity up for sale. Bucky dropped those thoughts as he went to help Steve care for his sick and dying mother.

The thought persisted, though, and churned around in the back of his mind for a few more months. In the end it was Sarah’s death that clinched it in Bucky’s mind, later that October in ’36. Seeing Steve look so sad and despondent made Bucky realize that he would never let Steve Rogers do anything alone. On the steps of Steve’s apartment, Bucky tells him that he doesn’t have to get by on his own anymore. Grasping his shoulder and looking Steve in the eye, Bucky makes a promise with the words that would eco throughout eternity; words that would save them both in the future to come.

                “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal,” he said and Steve flashed him a small and grateful smile.

~*

* * *

 

Just as Bucky had predicted, Steve couldn’t stay in his childhood home on his own. The fact was he was just barely 18 and Bucky was 19, a bit better off in the world but not by much. Bucky realized that by moving in with Steve, he would have to put education on hold until things got better for the two of them. Bucky had to ensure that they would get a good apartment that was not too high up, so Steve didn’t have to walk up all those stairs.

But first Bucky needed the money to get the apartment. His work at the docks would easily pay for a small one person apartment, just for him, but Bucky needed to have a place for Steve and be able to feed them both. Again the thought came back into his mind about selling his virginity, and without hesitation he set up a meeting with Mitch Cavetti, his old connection in the mob. (Keeping Steve safe wasn’t easy, especially when Steve tended to piss off people in the mob; so having a connection made sure that Steve wasn’t gunned down for mouthing off to the wrong guy.) Mitch was shocked to get his call and even more shocked, when Bucky told him that he wanted to take him up on his old offer. Mitch told him that he would throw out some feelers with his connection and call him later.

The wait wasn’t a lengthy one, but to Bucky, who was helping Steve pack up his mother’s things to be put in his parents’ basement, it felt like forever. When the call came, Bucky was looking at ads in the paper for apartments that they could rent based on what they could afford at the moment, without the supplement Bucky was looking for; and the prospects weren’t good. They were too high in the buildings, and too drafty for Steve’s precarious health. The call was a minor blessing at the time, and Bucky answered it in his father’s study, where he knew no one would eavesdrop on him. Mitch’s call was straight and to the point: he was to go to one of the warehouses in Manhattan after dark that Friday; he was to dress well, meaning sexy, and be clean; they would paint him up to look pretty for the johns, when he got there.

Bucky did as he was told: he washed that night and scrubbed every inch of his body; he even shaved his body, so he looked smooth and feminine. He got out his nicest shirt and pants, shined his shoes and pressed his slacks. When he dressed he foregoes the jacket, and put on only the vest. He unbuttoned the sleeves and rolled them up to show off his freshly shaved forearms. He left the top buttons undone on the shirt, showing off his smooth and hairless chest, only a smidge because he was still modest. When he was done, the look he pulled off was a sharply dressed man showing off his best attributes: his strong arms, well-muscled chest, and fine bone structure on his freshly shaved face. Looking in the mirror one last time, Bucky smiled his come-hither smile, and grabbed his coat.

When he arrived, the guys painted him up to look a little better under the lights, but otherwise didn’t change a thing about his looks. Once he stepped on stage, the auction took well over a half an hour. The johns were bidding really high, and the higher the numbers went, the more Bucky smiled. Mitch said that the mob guys behind it would take a 15% cut of the final bid, but other than that the money was all his; once the deed was done. The higher the number went the more money Bucky got, so he smiled and sat in his chair, looking every bit the man in charge. When the final bid came in, Bucky couldn’t believe his luck, over 500 dollars just for him and Steve. The cut of the mob was what evened it out to 5 hundred, but still that was a lot of money. It was more than enough to help them get on their feet.

Once the man paid him, and the mob bosses took their cut, Bucky went with the man into the back room. Mitch set it up nice, made it comfortable but still, it was just a place for Bucky to have sex for money; a lot of money but still. When it was all over, Bucky was sore and felt pretty loopy with hormones and the afterglow. The man left and Bucky gathered his things. He washed up and put his clothes back on, before he picked up the big wad of cash and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Bucky left the back room and headed for home, and by the time he got there he had even forgotten the man’s name. When he got to his room, he pulled out the cash and put it with the rest of his horde, before putting away his father’s gun. (You didn’t think he would walk home with that kind of cash without some insurance did you?)

As the months past, Bucky had forgotten the whole night in favor of better memories: moving into his new apartment with Steve, getting a raise at work, and finally Steve getting his first big commission from the Public Works programs. All in all, Bucky had quite forgotten the night, but that day came back to bite him; hard.

Bucky had just finished a long shift at the docks and was on his way home. He had been feeling off all day; cramps and minor back spasms. It was dark, and hot out, but that was July in New York for you. So when he stopped just a few blocks from the Docks, to take off his too warm jacket, he was knocked over by a horrible cramp centered in his abdomen just below his navel. The pain took his breath away, and spiked sharply down between his legs. When the pain past, Bucky was breathless and shocked; not to mention a little bit scared. He straightened at went into the old warehouse on his left to try and find out what was going on, in private. Once he was in the building, he was knocked down by another stronger pain. This continued until he was in the old office. He shed his trousers and underwear, when another pain hit, this time followed by the sensation like a rubber band snapping inside him. What followed was a clear bloody fluid draining from between his thighs. Bucky went white in realization: he was Pregnant, and in labor.

The next few hours were a blur of pain and screams, as Bucky began to deliver the baby. With one last screaming push, Bucky felt something slip out of him. Gasping for breath, and with relief that the pain was gone, he slumped back onto the mattress of the cot. He laid there for a moment before he realized he didn’t hear a sound. There was no watery wailing of a newborn, or even light whimpering; there was just silence. Bucky sat up, gritting his teeth in pain, as his belly contracted and a soft mass left him. He looked between his legs and saw the bloody mess. For a moment he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, until he pulled the afterbirth away and gazed at the little blue form between his thighs. A tear ran down his face as he reached out and touched it, and his fingers were met with cooling flesh; confirming that the Child was stillborn. With his shoulders shaking with restrained sobs, he picked up the baby and held it to his chest. Once the cold skin met his own, Bucky began to sob in earnest; and he sat there crying as the blood and fluids dried on his legs.

Once the tears had dried up, Bucky took his now ruined and bloody jacket, and wrapped the baby’s still form in it. Cleaning up the mess as much as he could, Bucky picked up the baby and carried it as gently as possible to the nearest church; and there he left it on the steps to the nunnery. Ringing the bell a few times, Bucky waited to hear the sound of a person coming to the door before his walked away as fast as his sore body would allow. He hid behind the wall of a building across the street and watched as the door opened. The Sister that opened the door looked around for a moment before her foot caught on the stillborn form.  Bucky walked away as she picked it up and heard her gasp of sorrow. He didn’t want to see the rest; he just wanted to go home and sleep.

When he got home, Steve looked worried and asked where he had been. Bucky lied and said he was mugged by some homeless guy for his coat. Steve got mad and told him that they should tell the police, but Bucky snapped at him.

                “It’s just a coat, Steve!” he snapped, and Steve looked back at him with wide and remorseful eyes. Bucky sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and down his bone weary face. “Steve, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just tired and sore, and wanna take a shower and get some sleep. The guy probably needed it more than me, so don’t worry about it. I’ll get a new one; it was getting’ kinda worn anyway.” Steve looked at him closely for a moment, as if he had caught Bucky’s lie before he nodded; letting Bucky’s lie slide for now.

Bucky toed off his shoes and ran himself a hot bath. After scrubbing off the dried on gunk from the birth, Bucky climbed into bed and fell asleep.

Bucky never forgot about the stillborn baby, nor did he forget the reason he became pregnant in the first place. So when Steve got very sick that next January, and needed powerful antibiotics to combat the bad chest cold and infection, Bucky didn’t hesitate to call Mitch again and see if he could set up another auction. Again, Bucky’s body sold for a good price; not as high as the five hundred from before, but enough that Steve would get his medicine and they could get some better food for a few months. This time he told the guy to pull out before he finished or wear a rubber. The guy didn’t like the rubbers, so he pulled out instead.

It didn’t matter though. Seven months later, in the height of the hottest days of the summer, Bucky felt the first cramps of labor. This time Bucky was returning from a date on a Saturday night. The cramps came hard and fast, and threw him to his knees; clutching his contracting belly in pain. Just as before, Bucky ducked into an abandoned building for the quiet, but this time there was blood in his underwear, when he took them off. A few hours later, and a lot of blood, Bucky pushed out the miscarried baby. Crying just as hard as the first time, Bucky wrapped the tiny form in an old blanket left in the place, and took it to a nearby church. This time he didn’t even bother hiding to see the nun take the baby off the steps, he just walked away and went home.

Bucky didn’t want to experience that kind of heartbreak and pain again so he buckled down hard; cutting back his expenses and making a budget to follow so absolutely no money was wasted. He made sure that there was a spot for Steve’s medical expenses in their budget, which accounted for his everyday medicine and for emergencies. Bucky’s second pregnancy failed in July of ’38, and for a whole year, Bucky was able to keep to their budget; and not need that kind of extra cash that whoring himself to rich men to the highest bidder would get. But things don’t always go according to plan.

\-----~*

* * *

 

It was January of 1940, and things were looking better for the two young men. Steve was getting more stable work from his drawings, and Bucky had squirreled away enough funds that he was thinking about going back to school; maybe be a doctor, to figure out how to cure Steve’s immunity problem. Schooling like that cost a lot of money, but Bucky was smart and knew he would be able to get a scholarship on his grades and athletic performance alone. Steve had his eyes on Europe ever since Germany invaded Poland and a new War had begun. Bucky told him to forget it, and that the war would be over before the US ever got involved. Privately, Bucky gnawed on his lips and cheek, as he heard about what was going on with the Nazis. He knew this wouldn’t blow over; he just didn’t want Steve involved.

Steve had contracted a bad case of the flu again, but this time, instead of being stuck in his room shivering and coughing, he was glued to the porcelain of the toilet as he threw up whatever Bucky tried to put in him. Stomach flues were worse for Steve; because he lost whatever little fat he had on his body and made him look even gaunter than before. Add in his diabetes and you had a recipe for disaster. Steve seemed to be doing alright, when Bucky left for work that morning; but when he got home, Steve was back in the bathroom hugging the toilet. At first Bucky didn’t notice, because Steve flushed the toilet after every heave, but when Bucky came in and saw him throwing up blood, he paled and called for a doctor.

Steve ended up being admitted to the hospital for a ruptured ulcer. Bucky knew without a doubt that their little nest egg for Steve’s sick days would never pay the hospital bills, and doctor bills piling up the longer Steve stayed in the hospital. Bucky didn’t want to whore himself out to rich men again, but he thought long and hard about what was more important to him: his friend’s health, or his pride. In the end, Bucky swallowed his pride, when Steve got an infection and would be stuck in the hospital for weeks. He called Mitch and asked for one last favor. Bucky knew that he would risk pregnancy again by doing this, but he felt he had no other option. His folks were raising his little sisters; his Pa had to work long and hard hours to keep their house, and his Mom, she had to take up work as a seamstress again to supplement their income to keep his sisters well fed and in good clothes. He couldn’t ask them for help; it would be admitting that he couldn’t care for himself and Steve.

When it was over, Bucky felt soiled in a way that he had never felt before. He took his money, dressed up in his clothes, and all but ran home to scrub down every inch of his body. Steve needed to get back in school and they both needed his little nest egg for their future, so the money from this night was more than enough to help them. It was more than enough to pay for the doctors and the hospital bills, and there was enough left over that Steve and he could go back to school.

\---*~

* * *

 

It was as Bucky had feared several months later. He knew that he might be pregnant, but he never showed any signs, other than a little nausea and dizziness if he stood too fast. His appetite was healthy but not overly so, and he didn’t show; there was no sign of a bump even. He took good care of himself for the next nine months after he slept with the man, but he showed no signs. Bucky thought he had dodged a bullet, but never was he more wrong.

It was November, when it finally happened. Bucky had just finished his final shift at the docks and was looking around the old warehouses, when the pain hit. It was midafternoon, and the sun was moving towards the horizon and dusk. Bucky knew that he needed a place to hide and give birth in secret, and the old warehouse at the docks was perfect. It was abandoned and had good rooms where he could hide away. Bucky grabbed a first aid kit from the foreman’s office, and bolted for the warehouse. Bucky had nothing but his jacket to wrap the baby in once it was born, and a thin sheet to cover the ground and keep him from getting sick.

Bucky made his way to one of the basement storerooms to keep in his screams, but it was slow going; him having to stop with every painful contraction. Once in the room, he placed the sheet on the hard packed dirt floor, and took off his pants and underthings. Once that was done, the only thing to do was to wait; so Bucky waited. He paced around the room, stopping only to lean on a wall with his legs spread wide and groan in pain, as a contraction gripped his middle in a vice. Bucky had looked up medical journals on childbirth and read that walking and movement could get things going quicker.

The hours had moved on, and the sun began to set when Bucky’s belly was gripped by a powerful contraction; sending him to his knees. When he stood back up, there was a pool of liquid between his legs and he felt something within him move down. Bucky panted and shook with fear for a moment, before moving to the sheet and towels. Settling down on the pile of stolen towels and sheet, Bucky grabbed the kit and pulled on a pair of the rubber gloves. Taking a deep breath, Bucky put his hand between his legs and stuck two fingers into his birth canal. They easily fit, so he put in a third, then a forth. It was a bit tight but they fit. He was about to pull them out, when he was gripped by a contraction that was different than before. It felt useful, like it had purpose; and he felt the purpose, when he felt something move past his cervix and into the birth canal. Once it ended, Bucky pushed his fingers up a little further and felt something at the very tip of one.

Bucky’s face went blank in shock, as he realized that he was feeling the baby’s head. Pulling them out, he gripped his hands on either thigh and waited for the urge to push. He didn’t have to wait long, for the next contraction came right on the heels of the last, and with it the unbearable need to bare down and push. Bucky followed his body’s urging and bore down. A groan came from his throat, rising in pitch and volume into a full-blown scream; as he pushed with all his strength on the contraction. Pausing to catch his breath after it eased, Bucky was caught off guard, when another came rolling over the next. A loud scream was torn from his throat and he bore down without meaning to and felt something begin to breach his opening. Once the contraction ended, Bucky took his hands and cupped the small bulge between his thighs. A smile creased his face as he realized the baby was crowning, before he set his jaw in determination. As carefully as he could, he pushed and eased the skin of the opening around the baby’s head. It burned like fire and his eyes watered with tears, but Bucky resisted his body’s urge to bear down hard again and only pushed lightly. Once the head was free, he pushed and let the baby’s body turn as the shoulders worked themselves free.

With one last mighty push from his body and pulling with his hands, Bucky delivered the baby with a scream. Sagging in relief, Bucky nearly collapsed, when the burning pain was gone. He gasped for breath, and smiled as he looked down at the baby in his hands. His smile faded, when he saw that the baby was blue and unmoving. Panic filled him, as he rubbed the baby’s body to try and get it to breathe. He put his lips to the baby’s nose and mouth and sucked the gunk out of its airways. Spitting out the mouthful, he put his lips back to the baby and tried again to get it to breathe. For several minutes Bucky tried desperately in vain to revive the stillborn child, before he let out a choked sob. Gathering the baby to his chest, Bucky began to cry and wail, begging the child for a breath that would not come.

He turned his face into the child’s chest, and sobbed hard and long over his baby boy. He was so distraught, that he never even felt his body give one last lurch and deliver the afterbirth. For several minutes Bucky just held his baby; anointing and washing him with tears of sorrow. Bucky took a deep breath and pulled away from the baby; his tears still flowing, he pressed a tender kiss to the baby’s head. Bucky laid his cheek on the child’s crown and smiled a broken smile; tears still running down his face.

                “I love you,” he whispered, with all the sorrow and love within him, before laying the child down in his coat, and wrapping him in it. Swaddling the baby in the coat and then wrapping him in the bloody towels, Bucky set the child down and cleaned himself off. He pulled on his clothes and then, with his bare hands, dug his baby a grave; right where he was born. By the time Bucky was finished his face was dirtied with mud and tears, and his hands were caked in dirt and scraped raw. His fingertips were bleeding and his nails were cracked and torn, but with all the gentle tenderness of a parent, Bucky laid his child in his grave; placing the afterbirth beneath him and covering him in the towels and the sheet. Bucky covered the grave with all the dirt he dug out and placed a small wooden cross under just a few inches of dirt.

“God, take this child into Thy arms, and care for him… (Sob) as I cannot!” Bucky said as he knelt over the baby’s grave. Shedding a few more tears over the grave, Bucky stood and left; not turning to look over his shoulder, or glance once more at the grave only he knew of.

Bucky came home, covered in dirt and mud; his clothes rumpled, scuffed and stained. Steve saw how he looked and opened his mouth to yell at him for making him worry, before he saw the look of complete grief on his dusty face. Steve fell silent and didn’t say a word, as Bucky took off his shoes, his pants and shirt, and walked into the bathroom to try and wash away his sin and pain. Steve still didn’t say anything, when Bucky had foregone dinner and crawled into bed.

A few hours later in the dead of night, Steve woke to a sound. Turning his head, so that his good ear was towards it, Steve heard Bucky crying softly in his own bed. Steve got up and dragged his bed up next to Bucky’s and threw his blankets across the two beds. Bucky pulled his own blankets up and Steve pulled them over the both of them. For a moment all was quiet save for a few silent hitches in Bucky’s breathing, and then Steve slid over and tapped Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky turned around and buried his face in Steve’s bony chest. Steve didn’t say a word; he just held his friend quietly, as he sobbed into his chest and cried himself to sleep. That was how Steve fell asleep: with Bucky tucked into his chest and his arms around him.

Steve never mentioned it the next day and Bucky didn’t say a word. Steve watched as Bucky seemed to fall into a deep depression, for a while. For a few weeks, Bucky was always sad; and for a few days after that, teetering on the edge of suicide. But Bucky recovered and smiled more at Steve; and if Steve noticed that Bucky’s mother hen instincts got stronger after that, he never said a word.

~*

* * *

 

The next year was hard on the two of them, but Bucky finally had the time and money to go back to school. Steve and he decided to take some elective classes together at the community college before setting their sights on a University. They are both taking a class in Manhattan for figure drawing, when the news came in on the radio: Pearl Harbor Attacked and America is at War. They both listen with awe and fear as Roosevelt makes his speech before congress to declare war with the Axis powers. Steve immediately wants to join up, but Bucky is more cautious. Steve asks Bucky to help him get into shape so he can enlist, and Bucky caves thinking Steve won’t last through the regimen needed to get him ready. The two of them train for weeks at Goldie’s gym; but Bucky won’t push Steve too far for fear of making his already bad heart and lungs worse.

~*

It is after a long day of working at the docks and training Steve in the morning before his classes, that Bucky finds the notice in with his mail. Bucky sees the official look of it and open’s the letter. He reads it over, and for once is glad that Steve is not there, when he collapses back into his kitchen chair; his face white as death and his whole body shaking in shock. He cannot comprehend the words that are typed on the page for a moment before it dawns on him: he’s been drafted. Bucky starts to laugh hysterically with the realization; he and Steve were going to go to the Recruitment Office the next day to enlist, but the Draft board got him first.

The next day Steve and Bucky head for the Recruitment and Induction office, Steve to try and enlist with his laundry list of health problems, and Bucky for his induction. When Steve is rejected, Bucky is relieved and lies to tell him he has enlisted. Steve doesn’t want a 4F pass, and no matter how hard Bucky tries to discourage him, Steve is determined to enlist. Shipping out for training is the hardest thing Bucky ever has to do; because he has to say goodbye to Steve. Bucky doesn’t want to leave him for months on end, but he’s no draft-dodger, and he already was inducted. So with a stern warning not to get into any trouble while he’s gone, the two say their goodbyes.

                “And remember, Steve,” he says, “don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back.” Steve grins a cheeky smile and retorts:

                “How can i? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.” Bucky huffs out an exasperated laugh, before dropping his bags and moving to stand before Steve again.

                “You,” he said with his finger pointed at Steve’s shamelessly grinning face, “Are a grade ‘a’ Punk!”

                “And you’re a class 1 Jerk!” Steve retorts with a smile. Bucky snorts in laughter and pulls Steve into a tight hug. When he pulls back, his face is more somber. “Be careful, Buck,” he says with sad and worried eyes. Bucky smiles and goes back to his bags. Throwing the duffle over his shoulder and picking up the suitcase, he smiles back at Steve.

                “When am I not?” he asks and boards the train, leaving Steve alone for the first time in years.

*~

* * *

 

With all honesty Bucky wasn’t expecting training to be as hard as it was. He was sore every day, and the food was vile, but he got one of the nicest suits out of the deal, so it wasn’t all bad. The aches and pains of rigorous training and fighting didn’t even come close to the deep-bone ache and agony he had felt for days after giving birth, so he could grit his teeth and bear it. The drill sergeants noticed right off the bat that he was quick and agile for a man his size, as he bested every opponent they put him up against. He was also a quick learner; give him a gun and he could shoot it with an accuracy of a soldier in the army for years, not weeks; show him how to fight and he would have even the Serge on his back after a few hours. It came as no surprise to Bucky that they wanted him to stay behind for advanced combat and arms training. As much as he wanted to see Steve again, Bucky knew that advanced training meant more pay and better benefits. He was given advanced hand-to-hand fighting combat training, and weapons training.

It was only a week after he started the advanced weapons training that he heard the term “sniper” used around him. Advanced combat infantry and snipers were given hazard and combat pay, and Bucky knew that if he made himself the best, he would be on the fast-track to Sergeant and have his choice pick of any infantry unit. Soon enough, Bucky was selected for sniper training. With his keen, elf-like vision, he could hit a target farther and better with the scope of a rifle than anyone else. Soon he was being trained for Special Forces and advanced infantry work; and, sure enough, before the end of the year Bucky had earned the rank of Sergeant.

Heading back home, to wait for his orders, was a blessing; because it meant he could keep an eye on Steve again. He and Bucky had a great reunion and Bucky spent no time at all going out dancing with Steve at his side. When the letter came that Bucky was being placed in the 107th like his Pa, he was relieved. The 107th was rumored to be heading out for Europe, which was a relief; Bucky had heard some god-awful things about the Japs treatment of prisoners, so he wanted nothing to do with the pacific campaign.

It was the morning of the 14th of June, when Bucky finally got his orders. Bucky got dressed in his finest uniform, and put on his cap. He wanted to remember his last night of freedom; because he had a feeling he wouldn’t see it for a long time. So, Bucky called an old girlfriend and asked if she would go out with him on his last night before he shipped out. She, apparently, had gotten married since last they were together, so Bucky asked if she knew a couple of girls willing to go on a double date with him and his buddy, Steve.

After calling around for a few hours, Bucky got a date secured for himself with a pretty brunette, and a nice blond for Steve, to go to the big World Exposition of Tomorrow. Bucky had heard that Howard Stark was going to host a prototype presentation himself. If that didn’t get Steve’s mind whirling with possibilities and off enlisting, Bucky didn’t know what would. Dressed in his best, Bucky put on his cap, and went out to find Steve; grabbing a paper on the way.

While passing a theater, Bucky heard the sounds of a fight coming from the side alley. He shrugged at it, and just as he was about to pass it by, he heard a voice call out: “you just don’t know when to give up, do ya?” and not seconds later a gasping reply.

                “I can do this all day!” Bucky knew that voice anywhere. He rolled his eyes and marched down the alley to pull Steve out of yet another fight.

\-----------*~

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews would be nice. I've got seven down, and the hardest chapters yet to come. some encouragement would be nice.


	3. The First Avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally at the movie.   
> Bucky ships out and Steve gets remade.  
> Steve was always meant for more than this, and Erskine saw it.  
> something happens to Bucky in the camp, that will change his life forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has a lot of movie text in it so this is the final and only disclaimer: the characters belonging to Marvel are theirs, I am just borrowing them. text is used for continuity, Please review, because from now on it is all AU.

Chapter 3: the First Avenger

“You know, sometimes, I think you like getting punched,” Bucky says to Steve as he picks himself up off the ground. Steve looks down at himself and sees the mess his clothes are in. He feels a trickle of blood on his face, and wipes his nose and mouth. Right now he feels absolutely lousy. Four times; the army had rejected him four times. He never felt like a failure before, but with each new 4F, he started to feel like one. Bucky got in on his first try; sometimes life wasn’t fair.

 All he wanted was to do what was right: stop the bullies, live up to his family name, make his mother and his Dad proud; wherever they were. He wanted to be someone that could help; he wanted to do something to help stop the bloodshed. Maybe it was the elvish blood running in his veins that did it, but he felt he was meant to do something in this war; he didn’t want to stay at home while Bucky and other good men were sent away to war. He didn’t want to stay behind, while other men were laying down their lives; it wasn’t in his blood to stay behind other men and let them fight. He wanted to be right there with them, shielding them from harm; urging them on, when they felt they couldn’t go any further. He was meant for more than this.

~*

“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky heard Steve reply, and he signed. He heard those words almost a thousand times by now, and no matter how many times Bucky pulled Steve out of a fight, they never got old.

Bucky shook his head in exasperation and no small amount of despair and his eyes caught sight of a piece of paper on the ground. Bucky signed and went to pick it up; already having a sneaking suspicion as to what it was. Yep, an enlistment form; _‘Damn it, Steve!’_ he thought.

                “How many times is this?” he asks as he picks it up. His eyes widen when he looks at them, half exasperation, and half shock. “Oh, you’re from Paramus, now. You know it’s illegal to lie on your enlistment form,” he says and then with a half disgusted twist to his mouth, he looks at Steve and says, “and seriously, Jersey?” Bucky sees Steve look at him, and his face go blank with shock. Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes. _‘Of course he would see the uniform first.’_

                “You get your orders,” he asks with a slight worried lit to his tone. Bucky sighs looking Steve up and down. He really doesn’t want to get into another fight with Steve. He just wants one last night out with his best friend, before he ships out in the morning. Bucky straightened his shoulders, throwing them back and pulling his head up with no small amount of pride. The pride is slightly hollow, when in Steve’s presence; so his voice is slightly tired and morose, when he answers Steve.

                “The one o Seventh: Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” Bucky sees Steve’s self-depreciation and knows what’s coming out of his mouth next.

                “I should be going,” Steve says, his shoulders sagging a little, as he sighs a little in dejection. Bucky doesn’t want to argue so he looks at Steve for a moment before smiling.

                “Come on, man!” he grins, and throws his arm around Steve’s left shoulder, pulling him in to a one armed hug. Steve seems to relax a little after that, and seems more willing to have some fun. “It’s my last night. Gotta get you cleaned up,” he says as he looks Steve over and sees the mess he’s in. He lets go of Steve and walks ahead with purpose.

                “Why? Where are we goin’?” Steve asks. Bucky tosses away the falsified enlistment form, and holds the paper he had in hand, with the front page article on the World’s Fair of Tomorrow, out for Steve to take.

                “The Future,” he responds with a swagger in his steps _. ‘This is going to be a fun night,’_ he thinks, as he walks ahead of Steve to take them to get ready. Bucky heard it’s going to be quite a show.

~*

* * *

 

Seeing Steve gone after watching the big presentation, Bucky’s heart dropped. He signed and looked around to find out where his little buddy could have gone. His eyes landed on the “Uncle Sam” poster, and he knew; just knew, without a doubt, that Steve was at the Recruiting stand again. A little mad and even more disappointed, Bucky smiled at the girls and told them that they were going to go dancing; but first he had to find his little punk of a friend. Not in those words, mind you; he still wanted the blond, (Candy was her name, he thought) to like Steve. Steve was a likable guy; he just had no idea how to act around or even talk to women.

Bucky left the girls outside the steps and marched up to find Steve. After looking around a minute with purpose, sure enough, he found him; right at an enlistment poster. Shaking his head and laughing off his anger, Bucky walked over to try and entice his friend away from the enlistment station again.

~*

                “You really gonna do this again?” Bucky said with no small amount of anger in his clenched jaw. He didn’t want Steve going to war. Steve was good, and pure, and all that was right with humanity; he didn’t want to see that goodness ruined by the horrors of war. He didn’t want Steve’s eyes to lose their bright innocent light, and shine; like so many men from the first War had. Like Steve’s Father had, before he died; snuffed out by the same gas that killed almost his entire unit. The war would ruin Steve, and he didn’t want that to happen. So he put every bit of anger and determination in his voice to get Steve to see reason and Stop trying to enlist. Steve’s weak excuse of luck really got his blood boiling, so he called him out on it; asking where he’d say he’s from this time.

“They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you!” Fear leaked into his heart at the thought of little Steve Rogers; weak, frail, can’t-catch-his-breath, always-sick Steve Rogers with a heart of gold but a bad back, heart, and lungs out there on the battlefield. Steve wouldn’t last two seconds out there.

Steve had the gall to say that he didn’t believe in him. He did! It’s just, Steve didn’t understand that in war, if you go down, the guy hitting you won’t stop until your dead. He believed in him just fine, but Bucky wouldn’t be there to get Steve out of scraps and fights. He couldn’t take care of just him, if he was there; he had men to look after, not just the skinny little punk that didn’t know when to back down from a fight.

                “This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s War!” Bucky glared back at his friend, his voice raising just a hint to tell him he’s mad. More than mad; he is furious: Steve doesn’t understand. He wants to understand why Steve is doing this, so he finally asks.

                “I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me,” Steve says looking confused and irritated. Bucky huffs in exasperation, and confusion.

                “Why?” he finally asks, “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs,” Bucky knows this, and so does Steve. Work is more plentiful these days, since the factories started pumping out planes, tanks and trucks. Steve didn’t have to beg for work anymore; factories were practically begging everyone that couldn’t fight to help. The factories needed more workers than they had.

                “What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal…” Steve says, and Bucky rolls his eyes; begging God that Steve finally gets it.

                “Yes!” he interrupts.

                “…in my little red wagon?” Steve asks sarcastically. Bucky’s shoulders drop.

                “Why not?” he asks back, and he feels that he is going to lose this fight. Steve never gives up once he feels he has to do something.

                “I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky,” he says, and Bucky feels Steve’s reasoning winning him over. But still, let it not be said that Bucky Barnes, doesn’t go down without a fight.

                “I don’t…” he starts and Steve interrupts him.

                “Bucky, come on!” Steve says, and for once Bucky actually stops to listen. “There are men laying down their lives,” he says like Bucky doesn’t already know that, and his shoulders droop a little more. He’s lost this argument; no doubt. Steve is in full “Joe Rogers” mode, and once he channels his father, or god forbid, his _mother_ , there is no stopping him. “I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me,” and Bucky sighs, shaking his head in defeat. He still wants one last jab before he gives in.

                “Right,” he asks, shaking his head and looking a little sad. “‘Cause you got nothing to prove.” Steve looks back intently, and a bit wounded; Bucky hit a sore nerve there and he knew it. He was aiming for it. Bucky feels sorry for it a second later. The girls finally break up their last glares of the argument and Bucky gives them a big reassuring smile; all charm and debonair, when he says they are going dancing. He turns back to Steve and looks at him for a long minute. Shaking his head and beginning to walk away he says: “Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.” He heard Steve’s huff of laughter and can practically feel the mischievous smile on his face as he turns away.

                “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” Steve says and he turns back to look at his friend one more time. He doesn’t want his last memory of Steve to be an argument, so he smiles and walks back up to wrap him in a warm hug.

                “You’re a Punk,” he says before he does, and feels Steve pat him on the back and answer with his customary response.

                “Jerk,” he says and pulls away; worry and concern in his expression. “Be careful,” he warns, and Bucky smiles. Steve always cares, that is why he can’t go to war: he won’t care after it’s over, and a light from the world will be lost with it. A few steps down from the station he hears Steve call out, “Don’t win the war ‘til I get there!” Bucky just can’t leave without a response to that. He turns around and gives Steve a sarcastic salute, before walking off to take the girls dancing. Something about that salute felt right, like one of those premonitions he would get sometimes; feelings about things to come, good and bad. This one felt like a good one.

As he walks off with an arm around his girl for the night, he can’t help but wonder if this is the last time he’ll see skinny Steve Rogers from Brooklyn; the kid too dumb to run away from a fight. He feels a bit sad at that thought, but lets it drop in favor of good memory making with the girls.

~*

* * *

 

At first Steve can’t believe that it all happened to him; it happened so fast that he is still reeling from the shock of it all. On the plus side, the serum worked. Everything Erskine said would happen did. When Steve met the man, he was the first doctor to take a second look at him without turning up his nose like the others. Erskine calling him out in the exam room at the recruiting station, made him nervous, but the man seemed to understand where Steve was coming from. He said it was a chance, only a chance, but that was more than anyone had ever given him before in his life. Seeing that 1A stamped on his enlistment form had made his heart soar for the first time in years.

The hard work that came after, was just another hurtle for him to get over. The training was hard, and exhausting; made even harder and more exhausting by Hodge’s incessant bullying. Steve never gave up, not once in his life did he ever give up, when he set his sights on something. This was just another obstacle that he would overcome. The hardest thing about it was Bucky didn’t know. He kept the fact that he had finally been accepted to himself, until he was certain that Bucky couldn’t do anything to stop him. That meant waiting until Bucky was overseas, to write him a letter explaining everything. Then they gave him the form on the clipboards to sign. Apparently the project was highly classified and that meant he couldn’t tell Bucky; not even in a letter. He had hoped they would pick him, prayed for it a little, but ever had he even dared to dream that Erskine would pick him.

That last night they talked together, Steve finally felt that someone understood him. He had hoped he was the good man Erskine thought he was, and thought back to all the bad things he had done in his life; and there were a lot of them. His mother said he was a good man, and he barely remembered his father, save for his parting words. Those choked elvish words to never give up, and keep fighting, had carried him through a lot of fights over the years. His battle with his poor health was the main fight that he tried his darnedest not to lose. He barely remembered his father; but he did remember the love in his voice, when he spoke to him one last time. The way Erskine treated him was very similar to how his father had: kind and understanding, but still firm.

When Steve had stepped out of that chamber and took his first full breath without his lungs constricting, he felt for the first time like his soul fit in his body. Being able to breathe deeply was wonderful, but it was nothing compared to when he opened his eyes and saw the world for the very first time. There was color! He could see reds! And Blues, and Greens, and all the colors of the wheel that he could never see before, but had always managed to fake so well. The perspective change was the biggest shocker. He was tall! That was all that could run through his head as he gasped for breath and looked around him. People were talking and he could feel their joy brushing across his awareness, as he tried to get his shaking legs underneath him. He was trembling, and his legs felt like jelly. ‘ _This is what it must be like for a newborn colt to first stand,’_ he’d thought. Agent Carter looked at him with shock and had asked him how he felt.

                “Taller,” was the only word that would come to his mind and sum everything up. ‘ _God, I must be as tall as my Dad was; maybe even taller!’_ he’d thought as he slipped on the new shirt they handed him. It was tight; in fact, everything was a little bit tighter. He didn’t have time to contemplate his new body before there was an explosion, and then gunshots. Seeing Erskine lying on the floor, gasping a little as he struggled to stay alive had brought back the memory of his father dying. There was nothing he could do but kneel there helplessly as the doctor died; but not before gently reminding him to remain who he was at his core: not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

Steve barely remembered running after the assassin, or catching him; all he remembered was the anger and wrath he felt towards HYDRA and what they had done. But now, here in a school getting a crash course in officer’s training, because he had insisted that he had to earn the rank before he claimed it, he felt that all of what the doctor had done was about to be wasted. The USO; all that training for becoming a soldier: learning tactics and how to be an officer, and they wanted him to be a glorified show girl. All the extra classes he blasted his way through to learn everything he thought he would need, felt like a waste. At least they let him design the costume; he was an artist, after all. It felt like an insult to have someone else come up with the uniform, so he doodled something out that looked patriotic and bright that would look good on stage. The shield wasn’t even his idea; Brandt came up with it because they were rushing into the show before he could even learn his lines, and he couldn’t write them on the suit. It was a nice symbol and all, but he wished it was something nicer than a cheap brass painted triangle and some wood.

He just hoped he could hack it on the stage and not mess up his lines. His memory was better, and so was his recall but he was going out there blind. Steve never did like crowds, and they were going to make him preform up on stage before hundreds of people. His only solace was that the senator would hopefully get him in the war, and he could show Bucky his new self. Getting over there this way, was not how he pictured it; and he told the senator’s aid just that.

He pulled on the cowl and walked out on stage, when his queue came. He just hoped he wouldn’t faint on his first time out. Barely two months since Flag Day, and already so much has changed.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Bucky had never been more afraid in his life, than the day he and his unit were captured. He’d done his best to keep them all alive out there, on the battlefield; but when he saw those big blasts of blue light, and the men that were literally vaporized by them; he had to admit he was hoping they were on their side. His men had cheered in victory, but Bucky’s innate senses were screaming ‘ ** _DANGER! DANGER, NOT FRIENDLY!_** ’ Looking up at that big tank, as it rolled over the hill towards them, he felt every part of his body screaming to RUN! Jones and Dugan were on either side of him when they saw the beast of a machine crest the hill. He heard Dugan comment on it being new, but Bucky’s instincts suddenly flared as bright as the flares they’d sent up, and screamed: _‘DOWN!’_

He had been right, and for once he wasn’t even glad he was right. They were totally out matched and out gunned. Bucky told his men to surrender. He hoped that they would take them to some prison camp somewhere, where they could escape later; but one look at the guys they had surrendered to, and hearing them talk, told him that, not only were these guys Germans, they had apparently separated themselves from the Nazi party into something called HYDRA. Bucky told his men to keep their heads down and not cause any trouble. He especially pointed that statement towards Dugan; because the man had a penchant for getting into trouble just by opening his mouth.

He hoped that wherever they were taking them would be somewhat nice, but Bucky wasn’t having a good day. The place where they brought them was a factory of some kind, and the guards weren’t just there to protect whatever they were producing. The workers, after a second glance, were prisoners as well. Not just American Allied soldiers, but British airmen, and French resistance fighters. They all looked like hell. They looked as if they had not had a decent meal in weeks, and the state of their clothes suggested hard manual labor. Bucky gulped hard, when he saw a new guard heading over to them.

This one was different than the others. First of all he had the Nazi SS pinned to his collar instead of the Hydra like the other soldiers, and his hat was very much a Nazi German soldier’s cap. His collar had three diamonds on it, marking him as a Lieutenant, and his dress was formal and well pressed. There was a fancy knife attacked to his belt and the Iron Cross was pinned to his left breast.  He had the look of an officer high up in the inner circle and close to Hitler. His armband was what marked him as a new convert to this HYDRA: it had the skull and tentacles in red, on a white background and black band. This guy had obviously followed whoever was in charge over to HYDRA from the Inner Circle.

He was tall like all the HYDRA goons, but his build was different, and the way he walked all wrong. He was trim in the waist and had a very lithe figure; his legs were long and, though he couldn’t tell through the black fabric of his pants, seemed to be very muscular. He was long limbed and walked with a silent, elegant grace that the best of dancers would envy. There was a trained and innate grace to his movements that told Bucky that this man had been raised in either high society, or in some royal court. He fit the perfect mold of Aryan perfection; blond hair, blue eyes, smooth and hairless features, and a stunning sort of unearthly beauty that could never have been real, but was right before them.

He stood before the whole lot of them, and his eyes slowly and carefully examined them. Bucky saw a keen and unnatural intelligence in those blue eyes, as he watched him; the kind that came from a long life witnessing many things. Bucky kept looking him over, when it hit him: his eyes were too old. The strange lieutenant’s eyes were the eyes of some ancient being. Bucky looked more intently at the man and noticed that his blond hair carefully covered the tips of his ears, and as he turned to look at more of the new prisoners, Bucky saw a glimpse of them. They were pointed, leaf shaped; you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for them. It was a gentle and delicate curve of the ear to something like a point, and it looked very natural. Bucky’s jaw dropped and his mouth opened just a little, when it hit him all at once: the lieutenant was an Elf, and not just any elf, if Bucky was assessing him correctly, but a High Elf; one of the Eldar of Valinor. Bucky had heard stories of them from his grandparents, but never had he thought that he would ever see one. The blond hair and blue eyes made sense now: he was a Vanyar, one of the closest tribes of elves to the Valar. The elf was fair beyond reckoning, and had a cold detached sense of awareness that must have endeared him to the Nazis in a way none had before.

When the Lt.’s eyes finally settled on him, Bucky saw a great, unending sorrow deep within them. In fact, now that he was looking him in the eye, Bucky could see that his whole form radiated sadness and deep unending grief. The light in his eyes was unearthly and piercing, and cut right into Bucky’s mind. After a moment of gazing at him, the coldness left the Elda’s eyes, and a kind of tender warmth took its place.

                ‘ _Do not be afraid, James Barnes,’_ came a voice not his own into Bucky’s mind. It took him a second to realize that the elf was using Osanwe, a type of mind-speak, to communicate with him. ‘ _You are not alone in this fight. Help is coming; just you wait, it will come.’_ Bucky nodded and smiled a little before the elf’s gaze ran over the rest of his fellow prisoners. The inspection was much less thorough than before, but maybe that was Bucky’s perception of time after that.

Just as the Elda was finishing up, another officer came from across the floor; this one was wholly HYDRA, with the proper uniform and everything. The guy gave Bucky the creeps. The two seemed to engage in a cordial but cold and strained conversation, before the guy pointed his riding crop at him. Bucky gulped when he saw the lecherous look on the creeps face, and he started to shake a bit in fear. He didn’t know how long they would keep them in the factory, but odds were it would be longer than his stolen birth control medicine would last; he only had a few more days left. Bucky knew that look from some of the johns that had bid on him during the auctions, and he’d silently prayed that they wouldn’t get the final bid. Seeing that look on the HYDRA officer’s face made Bucky truly afraid that he would be found out and passed around the men like a common whore.

The elf didn’t seem to like what the creep said to him; because he turned, and, with a fire in his eyes that Bucky had never seen in another living being, slugged the creeper right in the jaw.

                “Nein!” he shouted as he slugged him. (NO!) The elf glared down at the man with a disgusted loathing. “Sie berühren Sie nicht ihn, Lohmer,” (You don’t touch him, Lohmer) he screamed at the officer, “er IST _MEIN_ , und ich Teile nicht.” (He is _MINE_ , and I don’t share.)The creeper stared back at the furious Lt. before him and swallowed down on a look of fear. He smiled apologetically and stood up; dusting off his clothes as he did.

                “Ich wusste nicht dass Sie eine Vorliebe haben würde, Leutnant,” the creep said back pleasantly. (I did not know you would have a preference, Lieutenant.” He was sweating and he wiped the perspiration form his brow. “Ich würde nicht hob ihn, wenn ich gewusst hätte,” he said as he stepped back with his hands raised in the universal sign of surrender. (I would not have picked him, if I had known.) “Er liegt bei Ihnen,” he said with a bright smile, and turned his gaze back to Bucky. He nodded in his direction before he continued. (He is yours.) “Sie am besten kümmern ihn, damit Sie ihn Herr Doktor verlieren.” (You best take care of him, lest you lose him to Herr Doctor.)

Jones gulped down a breath and leaned close to Bucky, so he could whisper in his ear.

                “Their arguing about something, Serge,” he said softly, then corrected himself, “or, rather, someone.” Bucky gulped hard again, when the Lieutenant’s gaze settled back on him.

                “Yeah,” he agreed, “and I think it’s me.” Jones looked back at him in shock, before his gaze took him to the blond, who was looking at them all with a soft sadness. He seemed to steel himself, and the kind look was gone; replaced by cold hard steel, and uncaring. It was a good mask, but now that Bucky had seen behind it, he could tell it was a fake. The Lieutenant was kind and caring and he seemed to hate what he was doing. ‘ _He’s a spy,’_ Bucky realized. ‘ _That’s why he was so protective of me.’_ Bucky kept his theories to himself, as they were all pushed and prodded into cells that were glorified cages. Bucky’s unit was still with him and a few others from what looked to be different branches of the Allied forces. There was a Frenchman and a Brit with the rest of his unit, and Bucky had a bad feeling that his might just be the last place he would ever be.

~*~*~**~~~*~*~*

* * *

 

They worked on the factory floor, carrying and putting together pieces of equipment that were definitely part of some ship. Bucky was put on the floor, moving the equipment and ammunition on carts. About three days after he was captured, one of the officers noticed him taking his medicine with his meals and confiscated it. Bucky wanted to fight back, but Dugan stopped him.

                “It ain’t worth it, Jimmy,” he said. “Let ‘im have it.” Bucky huffed out a breath of frustration and let the matter drop. Fear boiled under the surface, though, and he worried about what will happen when the elf Lt. comes for him. He doesn’t want to get pregnant again, hence the pills; and he doesn’t want to go through the pain of losing another baby because his body can’t give them life.

~*~*~*~*~

The next day, while he is transporting his load to the other side of the factory, he is intercepted by the Lieutenant. The elf comes up to walk beside him and smiles. Bucky glances at him from the corner of his eye, cautious about starting a conversation with him. Bucky doesn’t want to be labeled a collaborator, or a turncoat in this place; he could easily be killed and it would look like just another accident. The Elda doesn’t make it easy, though and starts talking. He has a smooth voice, thickened by his German accent, and lit with something else.

                “Wie heißen Sie?” he asks in German first.

                “I don’t speak German, Fritz,” Bucky says coldly. The lieutenant smiles and chuckles softly; it’s a nice sound, Bucky finds.

                “My name isn’t Fritz,” he answers in English. His accent is very pronounced but smooth, like he knows how to soften it a little. “I am called Adrian Shaw,” he says with sharpness to his tone.

                “So, you do speak English,” Bucky says back, smiling at Falsworth as he passes; trying to get the nobleman to back down from causing a scene. Falsworth backs up and continues his work, glaring at the elf as he does so. “Was you speakin’ only German just to put us all at ease; thinkin’ you can’t understand what we are sayin’?” Bucky asks. Adrian smiles ruefully and looks down at the floor.

                “I can understand English just as well as German, and any other Edain language of this world,” he says as he looks back up and stares straight ahead. “German was the first language I learned, when I came here; besides my own. I spoke it more often than I did Quenya; so the accent stuck, I am afraid. I learned English, when my foster parents sent me to school in England.” Bucky looks at him with shock, and confusion, when he hears that.

                “You went to school in England?” Bucky asks, and turns down a more secluded area so they can talk privately. Adrian smiles and looks at him. Bucky notices that he is not wearing his cover and that his hair is not just blond, but a bright spun gold and honey. Bucky swallows, when Adrian smiles at him for staring. _‘He’s not a bad guy,’_ Bucky thinks. _‘Too bad he fights for the other guys.’_

                “I went to Oxford to learn my English, and become a student of Anglo-Saxon language and old English literature,” he says very frankly and smiles soft, as if lost in a fond memory. “I wanted to study old English culture through writing, and the early people of Britain. I love how the English language has changed in so short a time from a dialect of early German to become its own language,” Adrian smiles brightly for a moment, then it falls into a slightly bitter frown. Bucky misses that smile, it reminds him of Steve’s smile. He finds himself missing Steve keenly, in that moment. “I was in England on a student visa, when war broke out again with Germany; it was revoked and I was deported back to Augsburg. I never wanted to go back. I was supposed to stay and get my education; be something better than another German soldier.” He huffs out a depreciating laugh, and smiles at Bucky a bitter smile. “I suppose we don’t always get what we want, no?” Bucky smiles back softly, like he would to Steve after he was rejected from another job application.

                “No, we don’t,” he agrees. Adrian looks relieved and leans in, stopping for a moment and hesitating before Bucky closes the distance and kisses him hard. The two kiss passionately for a moment, hands running over each other’s bodies, before the need for air takes them apart. Bucky is panting hard and Adrian’s deep blue eyes are darkened by arousal. The elf looks at Bucky through his long dark lashes and smiles seductively. Bucky can’t resist that look and surges forward to capture his lips again. Adrian grips Bucky’s shoulders hard and grasps at the fabric of his clothes. Hands find themselves on his bare chest under his shirt, and Bucky moans softly into Adrian’s mouth.

The two could have continued, but the sound of one of the other officers calling for Adrian breaks them apart. Adrian gasps for breath against Bucky’s chest, before he composes himself. Bucky is envious of how quickly he can go from lost in the throes of lust, to perfect composure; as if nothing had ever happened. Bucky is not so lucky; he is aroused and uncomfortable in his trousers. He is even a little wet, if he is not too ashamed to admit it. Adrian sees the state he is in and links his mind to Bucky’s; lending him a little of his control and calm. In a few seconds Bucky’s discomfort is gone, but not completely vanished; the arousal is still there, beneath the surface, simmering until it can be released.

                “You should get those shells to their proper location, Soldier, before you get into trouble,” Adrian says with a raised eyebrow. A fond smile breaks the cold façade after second and Bucky smiles back. Adrian leans in and whispers into his ear: “come to the far north corner of the factory floor, when you can. There is a door leading to the officer’s barracks there. I will meet you there in two hours, after my shift is done. My quarters are secluded, and they don’t have cameras there. We will have to be quiet, though; the rooms are not sound proof.” Bucky shivers at the thought and gives Adrian one last parting kiss, before he starts pushing the cart back towards the shipping docks.

~~*~**~**~

* * *

 

Later, after Bucky was able to sneak off, he went to the exact location where Adrian told him to be. The door was locked but Adrian was there, just as he said he would. He smiled and grabbed Bucky by his collar. He dragged him past the door and into the officer’s barracks. Adrian was silent on his feet, even when rushed, and it made Bucky feel clumsy and loud in comparison. Once they reached Adrian’s quarters, Bucky pushed them through the door, and attacked the Elda’s mouth again. Adrian melted under his assault, and just managed to lock the door, before pulling Bucky towards his bed. The two fell onto the cot with a giggle and gasp. Bucky continued to dominate the encounter, before Adrian seemed to regain that fire from before, and flipped them over so Bucky was on his back and Adrian was between his splayed legs.

The two stripped their clothing and began the long and pleasurable act of copulation. Bucky had to bite his hand to not scream out in pleasure multiple times. Adrian was no novice to the art of love making, and neither was Bucky. He knew what he liked, and told Adrian what to do. Soon Bucky felt a pressure building up within him and he fell over the edge of his first orgasm. Adrian had to kiss him hard to swallow his screams. Bucky felt loose and plait as Adrian continued his ministrations. Bucky fell over the edge of orgasm after orgasm under Adrian’s assault; and he even climaxed so hard that his vision whited out, when Adrian entered him.

When it was over, Bucky was exhausted in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time; and sore in places where he wasn’t before. Adrian had made him climax multiple times, before he orgasmed himself; spilling his cum deep inside Bucky, with a long crescendoing chant. It was in elvish, something that Bucky had only a novice’s understanding of; but he caught the words for “eternal,” and “souls” and “union of body” before he passed-out from his last orgasm. As he lay there with Adrian in the afterglow, he felt a small presence at the edge of his mind; like a whisper of thoughts not his own, but it was gone before he could press them and investigate. Adrian smiled at him with a look that he had never seen before directed at him. He had seen it on his father’s face and his mother’s, always directed at each other, but never had anyone looked at him like that: like he had hung the moon itself, and set the stars in the sky, and made the sun wheel in the heavens, from horizon to horizon. It was devotion and a deep love that Bucky didn’t know if he could return in kind.

The moment didn’t last, and Adrian sat up to redress. Bucky quickly did the same as fast as he could with all his pleasant aches. Adrian smiled smugly, every time Bucky winced when he pulled on a sore spot. Bucky caught him just as he was pulling on his trousers.

                “Feelin’ pretty good about yourself, there, are you, Shaw?” he asked with a rakish grin. Adrian smiled softer and blushed, before he gave Bucky one last parting kiss.

                “You know do, James,” he said softly. His eyes fell to Bucky’s hand, and clasped it in his own. Bringing it to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the knuckles before letting Bucky go. “If ever you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. _Ae boe i le eliathon, im tulithon._ ” (If you should ever need my help, I will come.) Bucky didn’t understand elvish, but somehow he knew what Adrian had just said. And with those parting words, Adrian led him back out to the factory floor and back to his post. (The Frenchman, Jacques, had been filling his shift for him in return for a few extra rations for a fellow resistance fighter who had fallen ill. Bucky didn’t mind giving them up, he still had a lot of strength left.)

~***

* * *

 

The two continued the affair for a few more nights over the course of a few weeks; and each time they met, Bucky felt strong for days after. That seemed to change, when one of the officers caught wind that there was something going on with Bucky. The man had it in for Bucky ever since Adrian claimed him, when they first arrived. He put Bucky on harder duties and the men got even less rations than before. The prisoners were growing weak, and Bucky could tell. He began to feel a bone deep despair settling into his spirit each morning, when they hauled away the bodies of those that did not survive the night.

 One of them was a member of Bucky’s unit. His name was Timothy MacConighue; a real nice kid from the Bronx. He was a Scots Irish and proud of it. The kid could tell stories that would make their head’s spin. Far off tales of Elves and Dwarves, and ancient feuds that spilt whole nations apart; they were wild tales but Timmy Mac brought them to life with such grandeur. Bucky knew that they were probably old Numenorean historical tales that had been absorbed into some of the native stories on Earth. Hearing those tales again, even slightly twisted ones, brought Bucky’s mind right back to every Sunday afternoon, when he was small; sitting on his grandpa’s knee and hearing all the grand stories about his long dead kin.

It made Bucky boil with fury, when Timmy caught a bad cough that he couldn’t shake. Some field medic in Timmy’s cell said it was just a chest cold that would blow over in a week; but Bucky had been around Steve and Mrs. Rogers enough to know that it wasn’t a chest cold. Sure enough, a few days later, Timmy dropped during his shift; he was shaking like a leaf and wheezing so hard he sounded like Steve. Timmy’s lips were tinged blue and the tips of his fingers as well. Bucky knew these symptoms well enough that even he could diagnose it: Pneumonia, in the later stages. Bucky told the only priest that had survived to give Timmy his last rights, and pray for the best; but plan for the worst. The worst came two days later, when the guards came in the morning and hauled away Timmy’s cold blue corpse.

He was losing too many of his men. If not to sickness and lack of strength, then to that weasel of a doctor: Doctor Zola. The doctor would have a few of his goons come out and select a man from one of the cells. They would drag him away to the isolation ward on the other side of the factory, and he would never be seen again. Some of the men would swear, on pain of death, that they could hear screams coming from that back room; horrible screams, screams of men dying in agony.

~*~*

* * *

 

Then one day, after another soldier had been dragged away to the ward, Adrian came to him while on his shift. He was quiet and withdrawn; more so than he would have been, if they were going to have a rendezvous later that day. While on his path towards the loading bays, Adrian pulled him aside behind some equipment. Bucky smirked, thinking they were going to have some warm up fun right there, until he saw Adrian’s face: it was pale and drawn, and he was sweating; he was afraid. Bucky opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when Adrian clamped his hand over it.

                “Be quiet,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was watching or listening. His gaze turned back to Bucky and he could see that Adrian was absolutely terrified. “I don’t know how long it will be before they find that I am not at my post, and you are not where you should be. There is something I have to tell you. You might not believe me, but it is the truth; every word,” Adrian is shaking in fear, as he speaks; but his voice is steady. Bucky raises his eyebrow as if to ask “what?” and Adrian relaxes a hair. “My name is not Adrian Shaw. My name is Arion Ingwion; I am with SIS.” Bucky’s jaw drops and his eyes bulge.

                “SIS?” he whispers in shock, “British Intelligence: MI6?” he asks and Adrian, or rather Arion, nods.

                “I was approach while at Oxford to become a deep cover agent to spy on the Nazi Inner Circle,” he explains, “I fit Hitler’s image of Aryan perfection; and I was about to be deported. They said if I helped them gather information on what the Nazis were doing, I could return to England after the war and stay there with my foster family. I was sent here with a group of inspectors, by Hitler, demanding the results of Schmidt’s work with HYDRA; Schmidt killed them. I have a small device that allows me to take pictures of documents and photographs that I drop for my contacts to pick up in Switzerland. I was documenting important files, when Schmidt killed them. He sent his soldiers to find me, und they brought me to him. I had no idea what Schmidt was doing, but I knew he would kill me. For some reason he didn’t; he thought I was some superior man that Hitler was hiding for himself. I had to become HYDRA to live; and also because… what they are doing here is wrong, James!” Arion’s eyes are wild with fear. “Schmidt is insane! He must be stopped! They brought me here, and I have been here ever since. I am a prisoner, James; just as much as you are.” Arion pauses for a moment, and Bucky sees tears of terror in his eyes. Arion is panicked and thinks someone knows. “James, my device has enough evidence to prove that HYDRA is going to attack all the major cities on the planet. It has enough evidence to put these men in _the gallows_ for what they have done. But I think someone has found me out. I need your help.” Bucky nods, and clenches his jaw in determination. This is something he can do for his men.

                “What must I do?” he asks and Arion sags in relief, before telling him. The officer that drove Bucky and his unit to the brink of death was nosing around Arion’s things. Arion had been able to keep the device on his person at all times, but his fear is making him sloppy. And he has had one too many close calls for his comfort, so Arion needs the man to die. Bucky has a plan, but he knows Arion won’t like it. The officer in question is Lohmer; a Colonel, with a sadistic streak a mile wide. Lohmer is among the men that select who, from Bucky’s unit or otherwise, is going to the Ward. Bucky is more than happy to kill the man himself; and doing it for Arion will just be icing on the cake.

~~*~*~*

The next day, Arion is at his cell in the morning; as planned. The cells are still closed, but Lohmer opens Bucky’s cell and points at one of Bucky’s mates: Harrison. Harrison has a wife and two kids waiting for him at home, and a third on the way. If he goes into that back room, he is going to die. Harrison seems to know this, ‘cause he turns white and begins to shake with fear. Bucky nods at Arion, who goes to stand by the cage; close enough that Bucky can grab his fancy knife from its sheath and hide it. Bucky does just as he had planned, and pulls the knife out quickly and silently.

When the door is opened and Lohmer goes in to grab Harrison, Bucky plants himself in front of the man and glares him down; just like he was another bully that dared to pick on Steve.

                “Pick on somebody your own size, Kraut,” Bucky growls at the man, and sets himself in a fighting stance. Lohmer laughs dismissively, and goes to shove Bucky aside to grab Harrison; but Bucky is ready for him. As quick as lightning Bucky drops the knife in his sleeve into his hand, and shoves the blade into Lohmer’s chest, under his ribs; with a quick jerk, the knife slides right into Lohmer’s black heart. Lohmer doesn’t even get a chance to cry out; there is a quick gasp of pain and then he goes limp. The dead Colonel drops to the floor, and Bucky still has the knife in his hand. Arion looks back at him in horrified shock, and as much as Bucky would like to give him as smile, he turns his glare on the other goons with guns pointed at him. “Anybody else wanna try and take him?” Bucky asks, and one of the goons with a plasma gun steps forward, and charges his gun. Bucky can almost feel Arion’s panic, before a voice cries out from behind the group of HYDRA goons.

                “Stop,” the voice says, and the goons turn to look at the intruder. Bucky pales: it’s Dr. Zola. “This one has spirit, and has strength left; take him instead.” Arion pales so white he looks like death. Bucky gives him a glace and a secret smile. When Arion steps forward to retrieve his knife and take him from the cell, the others protest. Not for long, because Bucky is the highest ranking soldier there, besides Falsworth, and because he knows that they know: Harrison wouldn’t have made it back from the ward alive. He looks back at Harrison, who is trying really hard not to look grateful and failing. Bucky swallows hard around a lump in is throat, when Arion hands him over to another soldier; but not without a slight squeeze to his arms for courage.

Bucky doesn’t know if he has any more courage than the others that went before him, but he doesn’t want to watch anymore of his men get hauled away to die. Zola has his men strap him to a mockery of a doctor’s exam table, before he begins.

~*~*

 

* * *

 

At first it is just simple stuff that would be taken at a physical, and then the doctor takes his blood. For a while Bucky doesn’t know what is going to happen, and then the little Rat comes back with a vial filled with a blue liquid that looked like it glowed a little. Bucky gulped down hard and remembered his advanced training: Name, Rank, and Serial No.; give them nothing else. So that is just what Bucky does. He recites his name, rank and Serial number over and over, even while the stuff that the doctor shot in his veins starts to burn like fire. Bucky screamed, but he still gave only name, rank and Serial. They shot him up everywhere: in his arms; biceps, his wrists and forearms; in his chest, his legs and then his abdomen. Bucky didn’t know why that one hurt so much more, but it did. It burned and ached and made his muscles clench like he was in labor. Bucky remembered this kind of pain and knew how to work through it: breathe slow and even, and don’t let your body over clench by tensing up even more. He screamed like he hadn’t since the winter of ’40; when he was giving birth in a basement storeroom in a warehouse by the docks.

The worst part was that Bucky knew he was probably pregnant again. He was going to lose the baby on the table and not even see it. He wanted this baby, in a way that he hadn’t with the others. Maybe it was because he was in love with the father, or maybe it was because there was joy in its conception; but he wanted it. Bucky closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in months, and prayed for his baby to live; for someone to come and get them out of this hell-hole. For a moment, he wished Steve was there; if only so he could see his friend’s face again, hear his voice, and say goodbye.

~~*~*~


	4. Rescue of the 107th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has finally had enough and goes off to rescue Bucky, and ends up diving into legend.  
> lots of actual dialogue from the movie. hope you like my take on the rescue scene.  
> again the characters are not mine, I just borrowed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the newest chapter. working on chapter 9, I hope to have it written by the end of the week. I might not update for a while, I just started a job! an actual paying job, so some of this might get put on the back burner. don't worry, I will still update, it just might take a while.  
> Warning mentions of torture in this chapter.

When Steve got the news that he would be heading for the front to entertain the troops, he had a mixed reaction. 1) He was actually going where he wanted the most, and 2) he was not going to be commanding any troops and he was going as a glorified chorus girl. He didn’t think that he would get a good reaction from the troops that had seen combat. He thought it was a bit of a waste of time and effort to put him there, when he was not wanted or needed. The fact that he was going was the only solace that he had for the whole affair. Steve was an optimist at heart, and tried to look at the bright side of things, as he sat on the ship’s deck looking out at the waves. For a long moment he thought about what good could come from him being on the front lines. He couldn’t think of anything for a long moment so he stood up and went indoors. He sat down with the girls in the galley to have lunch, and heard the Captain talking with his first mate. Steve couldn’t help it if he overheard anything; the serum had fixed his hearing and made it really sensitive. He could hear a lot better than a normal person and darn near as well as an Elf, so it was a plus; but in situations like this, it tended to be a nuisance.

The skipper and his first mate were discussing their port of call, where he and the girls would disembark and take a different ship to England and from there a plane to Italy. In between that would be shows in London and a few large towns along the way, but this was the first time he was hearing about where they would get off the ship. His mouth dropped open in shock; Ireland, they were landing in Ireland. Steve had always wanted to see the land of his parents; where they came from.  Steve smiled bright and wide at the thought. He wouldn’t be there long, just an afternoon until they get to the next boat to ferry them across; but it will be long enough that they will be having supper before they leave.

One of the dancing girls giggled at his bright smile, and Steve blushed. All these months later and he would still blush and fumble around a pretty girl. The serum’s effects on his body gave him confidence to stand on stage and preform before hundreds of people, but one on one with a pretty girl and he was scrawny little Steve Rogers again; not Captain America. The girls had all tried to, well, seduce him, but that ended pretty quick, when he said the wrong thing and made one of them mad. He was horrible with women, and they all knew it. After a while he became endeared to them. He was like the shy little brother they never had, and they all made it their personal mission to protect Steve from hussies and Gold Diggers. They saw Steve as a sweet innocent young man that didn’t need a fast woman chasing after him.

~**~

Once the ship docked, Steve looked around the area with a slight bit of disappointment. It looked like New York in a way, but it had a slight difference that he would not have noticed if he wasn’t looking. With a sigh, he picked up his bags and went to board the bus that would take them to the train station. Steve wanted to see more of the land of his family, but that was further north and inland than they were going. Steve and the girls were packed in tight in the bus, and Steve had to keep his eyes glued to the visor of the bus, so he wouldn’t see something he wasn’t meant to. He stayed like that for over an hour, and by the time they had reached the train station, Steve was beat red from embarrassment. He bolted from the bus with his bags and all but ran to the train car where he would be staying for the remainder of the trip; no stopping until they reached the ferry, and Steve was a little glad for it. He hoped the trip to Europe wasn’t as uncomfortable as the bus ride.

Once he was on the train, Steve put his bags out of the way and slumped down into his seat. He huffed out a long slow breath of relief to finally be a lone, before his peace was disturbed by an older man coming into the car and sitting down in front of him. Steve straightened his posture and took out his sketchbook to draw. The old man was interesting and would make a good subject of one of his portrait life studies. He had a long white beard and a very grandfatherly face; he was a bit gaunt looking from age and his fair skin was browned and leathered from long hard days in the sun. His eyes were still a sharp cheerful blue and he seemed to have a smile on his face. He wore a jockey cap on his head and a nice jacket that had patches here and there on the sleeves and hems. He looked friendly, and might have even been handsome, back when he was young. Steve started drawing and sketching, and didn’t even notice the old man looking at him intently. He leaned on his old cane and leaned forward to get a better look at Steve. When Steve glanced up to get some details, he saw the old man staring. Steve blushed and looked back at his study.

                “Sorry,” he said with a blush at being caught sketching the man. The old man smiled and waved his hand.

                “‘Tis no trouble at all, my dear boy,” he said, and boy was his Irish brogue thick. It was flitting and gravely, but still light in spite of it. Steve went back to his sketch and the man took an even closer look at him before opening his mouth again. “An American?” he asked and Steve looked up in confusion.

                “I’m sorry?” he asked.

                “Are you an American?” the old man asked again. It dawned on Steve and he smiled.

                “Oh! Yeah,” he said with a slight blush. “Yeah, I’m an American.” The old man nodded to himself with a satisfied smile. This seemed to appease the man’s curiosity for a while, until he looked at Steve again.

                “Conscripted?” he asked and Steve looked back again with wide curious eyes. Steve smiled again.

                “No,” he answered, “no. I’m enlisted.” The old man pursed his lips and seemed to think on that for a moment.

                “Hmm, too bad,” he said, “had you pegged for a conscripted boy.” Steve smiled big and bright at his words; all teeth and crinkled eyes.

                “No, I volunteered,” Steve said with a small bit of embarrassment. The man looked even more intently at Steve once he saw him smile. Steve looked back curiously. “What?”

                “You look familiar,” he said pursing his lips and thinking.

                “Maybe I just got one of those faces,” Steve says with a shrug.

                “No,” the man says, “it’s not that. What’s yer name, laddie?” Steve blushes at the breach of protocol. His mother would be so mad if she knew he didn’t start a conversation with introducing himself.

                “Sorry,” he says and holds out his hand to shake, “Steve Rogers.”

                “Sean Donoghue,” the old man says, as he takes Steve hand and shakes it; the man has a strong grip for someone his age. His eyebrows rise as Steve’s name registers with him. “Your pop wouldn’t happen to have been named Joseph Rogers, would he?” Steve smiles big and bright like his father and nods.

                “Yeah,” he says, “that’s my Dad: Joseph Arathan Rogers, but his closest friends called him Joe.” The old Sean’s eyes light up like Christmas, and a bright and happy smile creases his face.

                “I knew it!” he says smacking his leg. He looks down in memory and smiles. “Old Joe Rogers,” he says wistfully, “I haven’t heard that name in almost 30 years! Not since the riot drove him and his pretty young bride out of their manor in ’14. Them’s was hard times, those days, laddie. Made even harder by those no good ruffians sturrin’ up trouble and inciting riots to drive the Numenorean’s out of their homes and property.” The old man shakes his head in disgust.

                “Manor? Riots?” Steve asks. “My parents told me that they had to leave Ireland; that they got into some trouble with some new group called The Irish Republican Army. My Ma never mentioned any riots.” Steve is confused; what this man is telling him doesn’t fit with what his mother told him. The old man Sean shakes his head understandingly.

                “It wouldn’t surprise me, if they never told ya the truth,” he said. “Those were dark days, my lad; and even darker times.” The man leans back in his seat and Steve scoots forward to the edge of his seat in preparation for a long story. Sean takes out an old wooden pipe from his jacket and begins to stuff it with pipe tobacco. Once finished he clenches it in his teeth and begins his tale. “In that year there was a group starting out calling itself the _Irish Republican Army_. Feh!” he laughs in derision. “Republican Army my foot; they were a group of no good upstarts and scoundrels riling people up for no good reason. Anyway, your father, Joe, had a brother named Andrew; oh and he was a scoundrel himself, if there ever was one. He had joined the IRA hoping to find a name for himself away from his elder brother. Well, in ’14 some group had infiltrated the IRA and started whisperin’ lies about the Numenoreans keeping them all under their thumbs; causin’ the famine, and stuff like that: nonsense. Well, a few hundred people bought the lies and started whipping up trouble for the Numenoreans. It got so bad that quite a few up and left their great big estates and fled into the hills. The Rogers house lasted the longest. Your father was a stubborn one, he was.” Steve smiled and nodded. Sean struck a match and lit his pipe, taking a few puffs before continuing. “I remember it so well that night: the sky had darkened early in the day with the promise of rain. And rain it did! It poured all night, and into the morning! Andrew had been running with this crowd and heard what they were going to do. Old Joe was already packin’ his and his wife’s things away. I’d heard that they were gonna flee the country; take what they could and run. It wasn’t like Joseph to do that, so I didn’t believe a word.

                “Andrew came to his brother and warned him of the mob comin’ for him and his wife. Joe took his wife, a few things and he ran. And as his brother; for the first time in his life, he did somethin’ right: he stalled the mob as long as he could, and gave his brother time to escape. Andrew saved their lives, laddie; saved the House of Rogers from being destroyed.” Sean smiled and puffed on his pipe contentedly.

Steve sits gob smacked, staring at the old man. He had heard from his parents that it had been hard right before they came to America, but never had they said it was this hard: driven out of their home by an angry mob incited by bad men, and forced to live a life of poverty and sickness. Steve thought long and hard about the way his father spoke of Andrew Rogers, his long dead uncle, and found that the fondness and love mixed with irritation and despair fit with what Sean had told him.

                “You mentioned a manor,” Steve said after a moment. “Were the Rogers family wealthy?” Sean laughed around his pipe merrily and pulled it out of his teeth to answer.

                “Wealth, he asks!” he laughed, “oh, my boyo, the Rogers were said to be richer than the King of England once! They were Lords of the Numenoreans, Lad; great and powerful lords. ‘Twas said that they were the first born house of a man named Arthadan. Numenoreans consider the house of Rogers to be the royal line of Numenor, and their rightful kings.” The old man continued to laugh and chortle, while Steve slumped back into his seat in shock. He had never thought that he was a prince. He felt like he was meant for more than what they had him doing, but a prince! It was absurd, and fantastical and totally insane! But the more he thought about it the more it made some bit of sense. Before he could ask more about his family from the old man, Steve’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t had anything to eat in a while. Steve blushed and excused himself to go get a meal. “No need to be sorry, lad. It’s good to have a healthy appetite,” Sean said when Steve stood up.

After Steve had eaten his fill, a very large amount of food that made the cook nearly cry for joy, he returned to the car and found that the old man was fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb the man’s rest, Steve settled down in his seat and finished his drawing. Later when the train had stopped where they both got off, Steve said his goodbyes and thanked the old man for the history.

                “Oh, it was no trouble at all, Stevie boy,” he said cheerfully, “I am more than glad to share my stories to those that will listen. It was a gift to see Old Joe Rogers’ eldest son. You look just like him, when you smile, lad; so keep smiling.” Steve laughed and waved the old man away before boarding his own ferry to head for England.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

 

Panic, sheer bloody panic, is the only thing running through his mind, when he hears that Bucky has been captured or killed. He knows; he just knows that Bucky is still alive. He can’t be a chorus girl anymore, not with Bucky’s life on the line. He needs to do something, anything to get Bucky out of there. He thanks God for what must be the hundredth time for the Serum, when he looks at the map and memorizes it. Steve has always had a good memory, but after the serum it was like he couldn’t forget things if he stared at them for more than a few seconds. He always thought it would be nice to have perfect recall on memories, and in a way it is nice, but it can also be a bit of a curse. He can’t forget that Erskine died and he couldn’t save him.

When he’d got to Italy, he was fresh off a tour in England and feeling pretty good about what he was doing. The men’s reactions to him on the stage and the blatant displeasure they’d showed to him, well, it was a wakeup call that he’d sorely needed. Sure he felt pretty lousy and irritated at their treatment of him, but, when he took a good look at himself from their perspective, he was just an upstart Captain that was untried in combat; and he was treating them like the kids back home. Peggy was just what he had needed at the moment; all frank and no nonsense. She didn’t mince words with him; she just told him the facts. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know Bucky was in the 107th. Hardly anyone in the SSR knew about his life before the project; they didn’t care. Peggy seemed to, but she was a spy; it was her job to fake things. Col. Philips was gruff and no nonsense in a different way. He made his displeasure about him well known from the beginning. But at this point, Steve doesn’t care. He is tired of being pushed and pulled by people that don’t know a thing about him. He doesn’t want to be a dancing monkey anymore.

When Peggy tells him that she can help, he is more than glad. He didn’t think that the jeep would have lasted all the way to Austria. The fact that it is Stark flying the plane is another matter entirely. Stark is mad and a genius all at once. When he first saw him at the Expo, he had no idea what to think of him. Science and all that future stuff was Bucky’s thing, not his. At the Brooklyn facility, he barely talked to Stark before the procedure, and after, the man was too busy with going over the HYDRA tech to bother talking to him. Steve has no clue what to expect of him, when Stark takes him up to rescue the men at Krausberg.

`~*~*~*

He is looking around the plane in wonder and no small amount of respect. Howard Stark had built everything he had from the ground up, that garnered him respect from Steve. What he didn’t quite get was why he was such a party boy. It wasn’t his place to judge so he didn’t. He turned his attention to Peggy as she stared to brief him on the mission.

                “The HYDRA camp is in Krausberg,” she said while pointing to the map, “Tucked between these two mountain ranges; it’s a factory of some kind.” That gives Steve more information that he believes will be important. A factory has workers, and if HYRDA is taking soldiers alive, then they might be using them to work the more dangerous jobs. Steve busies himself with preparing his chute so he doesn’t think about what else could be happening in there. He’s heard rumors coming down from up top, and he can’t even comprehend the idea that the factory is one of those so-called “death Camps”. Stark spoke up after Peggy and captured his attention.

                “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep,” he said. Steve nodded and looked back at Peggy. He wondered when she became Peggy to him instead of just Agent Carter.

                “Just get me as close as you can,” Steve haulers back at him. He turns his attention back to Peggy and just says what’s been nagging at his mind since they left. “You know, you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He says and looks at her.

                “And you won’t?” she asks very frankly. It brings a wry smile to his face. He loads the clip into his gun and answers.

                “Where I’m goin’, if anybody yells at me, I can just shoot ’em,” he says and smiles. Peggy raises her eyebrows in slight despair at his cocksure attitude, and reminds him that they will shoot back. Steve smiles again and taps the shield. “Well, let’s hope it’s good for somethin’.” He says and once more he wishes he had a much better shield. Something strong and well made to protect him and others. He wonders for a moment if this is how many of his ancestors felt right before the start of battle: nervous, excited and scared all at once. Stark opening his mouth about a late night in Lucerne for something called “Fondue” makes him really wish he was a man of the world like Stark. Peggy looks at him awkwardly and he can’t help but wonder what their relationship is.

                “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen,” she says. “He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.” Steve is just itching to ask and he can’t help it, when the stuttered question comes tumbling out before he can think it through.

                “So are you two…” he starts awkwardly and tries again. “Do you…?” he can’t even say the word. His mother drilled polite behavior around women into his skull for almost 18 years, so it makes it very hard to ask if Peggy is sleeping with Stark. Instead a safer word comes out, “Fondue?” Peggy’s look of awkwardness and exasperation might be the answer he doesn’t want, but here Peggy is all professional and hands him the transponder, telling him what to do. When he asks Stark if he is sure it works, Stark’s response of it being tested more than him might be a jab at his inexperience in combat. Steve just hopes that he is the man for the job. When the plane starts being attacked, Steve grabs his things and makes for the rear hatch. Peggy tries to get him back but Steve knows it is too risky to go all the way in. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell outta here!” he shouts to Peggy. He mentally prepares himself for the jump, just like in training. Peggy’s response takes away his nerves for a second. 

                “You can’t give me orders!” she shouts over the wind. Steve smiles at her irritation.

                “The hell I can’t!” he shouts back and looks at her. “I’m a Captain!” Steve smiles and dives out of the plane. As he dives, he is jumping for the first time into the history books, and into legend.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

* * *

 

The factory is in complete chaos. The prisoners have escaped and are turning on the HYDRA soldiers. Arion realizes that this is his chance to escape in confusion and get away. First of all he will need a suitable disguise to blend in with the rioting workers. Arion hates to do it, but he has no other choice. There is a crematorium on the grounds, and the morgue is near enough to his quarters that he sneaks in and grabs the uniform off one of the dead soldiers. The man is a British officer close enough to his own build that the clothes fit. But they sag a little on his body; which is perfect, because it will help with the disguise. When he finishes dressing, he looks like a British soldier that hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, or a good bath in just as long. His regular uniform is underneath the clothes with the collar undone to hide it under the loose cloth. When he is sure that the look is perfect, rubbing his face and hair with soot and dirt to complete the look, he goes back to his quarters and grabs the recording devices. He stuffs them into his inner pockets, before bolting out the door towards the factory floor.

There are men dying left and right, but Arion runs for the open doors that lead to the outer courtyard and freedom. On his way out, he sees other prisoners taking guns from the HYDRA soldiers, and he grabs a pistol from one of the bodies as he runs. Once out past the doors, he sees the chaos more clearly and also sees that this is not just a revolt of the workers, but a coordinated escape with more than a little chaos thrown in. Arion spots some of the members of Bucky’s unit causing the most damage, before he sees one of them climb into an armored vehicle with one of the HYDRA guns mounted on it. Arion knows that gun can cause the most damage, and shouts to Bucky’s British cellmate to man the gun. Falsworth follows his orders without a second glance at him and Arion smiles to himself. _‘At least the disguise works,’_ he thinks as he fires his pistol at one of the HYRDA soldiers. Arion watches and follows the stream of prisoners to the breach made by the gun.

A HYDRA soldier comes at him, and Arion shows him just exactly why you don’t pick a fight with an elf; especially one of the Eldar of the Valinor. Arion makes a flying leap and launches himself at the man, grasping him by the neck with his legs and throwing him to the ground. There is a satisfying crunch, when the man’s neck snaps under the strain and Arion is back on his feet like a cat. He pulls out the two knives he has managed to keep hidden from Schmidt and his goons, and starts going after the soldiers with a lethal grace that only a member of the Eldar can accomplish. He whirls and slashes his knives left and right, with grace and precision; always moving toward the breach and his ticket back to his real mission.

When he gets closer to the breach, he discards all forms of smooth grace for maximum lethality; his eyes never leaving his goal. Once he is through the makeshift gate, he turns, grabs a HYDRA weapon discarded on the ground and turns it on the soldiers. He is cold and efficient as he kills as many of the HYDRA soldiers carrying the weapons as he can see, before firing on the unused vehicles. Arion gives the escaping men a fighting chance to get to the woods and make a break for freedom; before he drops the gun, and follows them out; blending into the multitudes and masses, before making his break for it and heading towards the location of a dead-drop. Once there he will be debriefed and sent back to Hitler to continue his work gathering evidence for their final demise.

No one notices a missing British Major among the head count later, and it won’t be until Steve and Bucky are debriefing with the others that the mysterious soldier with the flashing knives is missed. By then it is too late, and Arion is back with SIS for his debriefing and redeployment.

~~*~***~*~*

* * *

 

When Steve marches back into the camp with the rest of the Soldiers he rescued behind him, and Bucky at his side, he feels like has finally done something right. The look on everyone’s faces is almost enough for the insubordination and AWOL charges he will brought up on to be worth it. He marches with purpose and, with his head held high, right up to Col Philips, and salutes him.

                “Sir,” he says, “Some of these men need medical Attention. I’d like to surrender myself for disciplinary action.” Philips looks around at the men, and has the wherewithal to look ashamed before he signs.

                “That won’t be necessary,” he says, and he can’t seem to look him in the eye. Steve smiles softly and relaxes.

                “Yes, sir,” Steve replies softly. Peggy comes up to him and has a look of indecision on her face before she settles for reminding him that he is late. Steve smiles a bit smugly and pulls out the very broken transponder. “Couldn’t call my ride,” he says and she holds back a laugh. It is while everyone is getting looked over that Bucky finally has had enough and shouts.

                “Hey!” he shouts, and once everyone has their attention on him he turns to Steve and says, “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” then everyone is clapping and cheering for him and very suddenly Steve feels that he had done something right for the first time in his life. Steve holds his head up high and takes the clapping and patting him on the shoulder or wherever they can touch, but he keeps his eyes on Peggy and has to remind himself that Pride comes before the fall. And he knows it is going to be hard to stay humble and be true to himself through all of what is to come, but as long as he has Bucky at his back nothing else matters. Bucky was all he ever had for so long, and, in a way, when this will all be over, Bucky will be all that he will have. It is in this moment that Steve became Captain America in truth: not when they gave him the title, or when he received the suit but here; in this little allied camp in the middle of nowhere, after rescuing over four hundred men. This is where Captain America was born.

~*~*~~*

Bucky had a hard time believing that the big muscly man that had saved him was the same little punk he left back in New York all those months ago. In a way, it felt like a lifetime ago, when he thought back on it. The fact that Steve had finally joined the Army didn’t get past his attention, but for the first time in his life Steve is healthy; so Bucky will let it slide, for now. The welcome they all received was wonderful and Bucky couldn’t find it in him to enjoy it. All he wanted was to climb into a tub of hot water and soak, until the gunk and grime of that place was washed from his body. A part of him wanted to scrub his body all over, where that weasel Dr. Zola touched him and shot him full of strange solutions especially. But Bucky knew that he wouldn’t get that chance for a while. Steve had insisted that he be examined by the doctors at the camp, after they finished debriefing him on what he heard and saw while at the factory; but that was the last thing that he wanted to do. Steve didn’t understand that he didn’t want to see a doctor, and could you blame Bucky; after what that mad scientist did to him.

Steve was stubborn, though, even before the mysterious procedure that made him into a muscled warrior; and he usually got his way. He did again, after he was able to drag Bucky away from the officers, circling like wolves at the sight of his weakness; just itching to label him a traitor and have him hauled away in shackles. Steve wouldn’t stand for it and forcibly reminded them that Bucky needed medical attention. Bucky doesn’t want the doctors to examine him and find out about his difference. He felt fine, but Steve insisted that he be looked over anyway. There is also another reason Bucky doesn’t want a doctor poking around at him: that stuff that the doctor put in his veins burned like fire for a while, but now that he is away from that place, he can feel the difference. He felt fine, but he knows he shouldn’t feel fine. He should feel tired and achy and in pain from having to grab Steve while leaning over a metal rail, but those aches and minor pains went away after a few hours.

He feels stronger too, like he can do anything; and it scares him. Now that he has wrung the story out of Steve, he knows that Zola was working on recreating the Super Soldier serum that saved Steve, but also turned Schmidt into a red skulled monster. As soon as he is alone after the doc’s have poked and prodded at him and declared him fit for duty, Bucky looks for signs that something is different. The first thing he finds is that his muscles are more defined; though that might have been from the fact that he has been living on what amounted to scraps for about a month. The other thing is that he feels like he could eat a horse and still be hungry, but he blames that on the starvation too. What he cannot blame on the prior conditions he suffered under before the back room, is the fact that his hearing is sharper and his vision more acute. His heart beat is slow and steady, when it should be racing. He can think clearer and remember things better and faster than before. The symptoms are all adding up and Bucky doesn’t like the diagnosis.

A little part of his mind wonders if he is pregnant. After all, he slept with men only three times before and always got pregnant; this time he slept with the same man multiple times and the Elda came in him multiple times. There was very little chance of him not being pregnant, but he still hopes that he isn’t; even when logic says he is most likely. Bucky is a little scared of what the serum would do to an unborn baby, or developing one. Bucky places his hand on his belly and presses; looking for any sign of conception. But save for a slight bit of bloating around that area, there is nothing. Bucky signed in relief, and instantly felt bad; he wanted Arion’s baby. But for now Bucky decides that it is too risky to be pregnant with the work he is about to do with Steve, and thanks his lucky stars that there isn’t a baby. Maybe someday, when the war is over, Bucky and Arion can renew their affair and have that child; a little boy, perhaps, with blond hair and Arion’s deep blue eyes and Bucky’s face. Bucky shakes the ghostly image of a young man with his face, and Arion’s blue shade of eyes and pointed ears. He can’t daydream now, Steve needs him.

~~*~**~*~*~**~*

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review. the last one made my week! Insightful and clear responses are wanted.  
> I am still looking for a beta.


	5. Lost History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns more about his family history, and gets the truth about why the serum worked so well on him.  
> Bucky retrieves a piece of lost history from a pawn shop in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a character building chapter. it has lots of background and character building.  
> one more chapter before the big event.  
> sorry about the wait. I will update sooner, I just want a good bit of wiggle room with written to updated chapter.   
> chapter 9 finished, going to start chapter 10 soon.

Chapter 5: Lost History

Getting the shield for the first time felt like a piece slotting into place that he had no idea was missing. It sang on his arm and fit perfectly in front of his body. Stark was nuts to think it not perfect because it was only a prototype. Steve loved the shield and wanted Peggy to like it too, so he asked her what she thought of it. What he was not expecting was for Peggy to grab the nearest gun off the table and fire it at him. It was only by the saving grace of the Shield’s Vibranium that nothing happened to him. His ears were ringing, when he looked over the edge of the shield and looked at her.

                “Yes,” she said quite primly with no small amount of sarcasm, “I think it works.” She put the gun back on the table and walked by both Steve and Stark; Steve kept the Shield between him and Peggy the whole time. Stark looked shell-shocked and stunned, when he came up to stand on Steve’s left; watching Peggy walk off. There was a respect there that there wasn’t before, and Steve knew in that moment he was totally in love.  Steve pulled the simple sketches he had done out of his pocket and handed them to Stark.

                “I had some ideas about the uniform,” Steve said as he watched Peggy leave. Stark took the notes without even looking at him.

                “Whatever you want, Pal,” he said. They were both Stunned at Peggy’s display of displeasure at Steve’s little mishap with Pvt. Lorraine, but most of all it told Steve that Peggy did care about him.

Stark finally seemed to snap out of his dazed state and looked at Steve’s sketches. The raised eyebrow at the stars and Stripes made Steve shrug his shoulders and blush.

                “Got used to the Stars and Stripes, Huh?” he asked with as small smirk.

                “They’re kinda growin’ on me,” Steve said back. Steve took the Shield off his arm before he gave his one last idea about the uniform. “I’d like it if the shield was painted to match the old one. I can do up a mocking of it to give you an idea later; but I kind of would like the middle to have a big star on blue.” Steve blushed, when Stark’s grin became fondly indulgent. Stark just shook his head and told him that they would have his uniform ready within the week.

Steve left the facility feeling a little on edge and more than a little excited. They were going to Ireland for their advanced training and prep, before they were outfitted with their gear and shipped off to fight HYDRA. Steve had no idea what to expect, when they would get to the training grounds, but Bucky told him that advanced infantry training was hard work and usually took months before the Army was willing to send a unit out together. Steve knew, without a doubt, that there were strings being pulled because of how big a threat HYDRA was to the Allies. Steve was just glad it was Ireland and not some poor English shire they were temporarily invading for their training and testing. The town that the Commandoes were being sent to was not far from the Rogers’ estate, and Steve hoped to take the opportunity to take a look at what would be his inheritance. From what he had heard, the place was huge, with forests and large farms on the grounds; as well as those open rolling green pastures that Ireland was famous for. The main house was almost a castle in its size and grandeur, but almost too modern to be considered as such. Steve didn’t care how big the house was, he just wanted to see the house his father and ancestors grew up in.

~**~~*~*~*~*~

* * *

 

The Town was a lovely view, and Steve was absolutely smitten, when he finally set his eyes on the estate. It was just the way the old man Sean had described it to him: the most fair and green parcel of land to have ever been graced by God’s hand. They were being set up in the town a few miles away from the large manor. In fact, when they finally came over the hills and spotted it, Falsworth gasped in shock. The group had asked him what was wrong and he pointed out the window at the looming form of Rogers’ Manor.

                “Wow!” Dugan exclaimed when he saw the building. “Wouldn’t ya like to live in a place like that?”

                “What castle is that?” Gabe asked, “Is it some summer estate for the Royal family?” Falsworth shook his head as he continued to stare at the building getting larger and more detailed as they drew nearer.

                “No,” he said, “that is the family estate for a Numenorean house. If you will note the roman style arches and large pillars carved entirely from white stone, and the large windows and the distinctive lean towards mimicry of nature; all of this is indicative of Numenorean architecture and design influence.” Falsworth grinned and signed in longing. “I don’t know which Numenorean House lays claim to this particular manor, but they must be of some significant importance for the heavy lean towards what they call elvish architecture.” Steve looked down at his lap a little sheepish, but turned his gaze back to the house.

It was indeed a glorious example of Numenorean architecture, with a heavy influence from an elvish design esthetic point of view. The manor had two large wings off the original main house, and a tall single tower soaring up from the back of the old building. It had symmetry like a Renaissance building but the heavy nature influence seen in most Art deco works. The grand entry had a covered porch with arched pillars, creating support for the balconies above. It was a beautiful house, if rather large, and the way it sat atop the hill, overlooking the villages below, seemed like a benevolent presence guarding the small town. Steve couldn’t help but be in awe at what it must have taken his family to build such a grand house. This made it all the sadder with the knowledge of what it had taken to drive his parents out of it. The whole façade was made from white stone, and had a look of graceful age that Steve had never seen in another building. In a word, it was beautiful.

                “It’s quite the mansion, that’s for sure,” Morita chimed in. “I ain’t ever seen it’s like before. Not even in Italy.”

                “C’est magnifique,” Jacques breathed in reverence as they passed. Steve smiled a little and looked at Bucky and found that his best friend’s gaze was just as riveted to the gleaming white building. Steve looked back at the mansion just in time for the light of the setting sun to catch the tower and flair gold and white; like a beacon for the entire world to see.

                “Whoa!” Bucky said as the tower gleamed in the light, “That’s a neat party trick.”

Steve smiled and went back to his notes and plans for their team training and gear. Soon the train took them around a bend and out of sight of the mansion, and the Commandoes all started to gather together their bags to disembark the train. Once the train came to a stop, Steve packed away his notebook and grabbed his duffle bag and suitcase. Steve was told that their contact would meet them at the train station and take them to the hotel where they would be staying for the remainder of their training. Steve expected a man around his age, maybe a bit older than him. So you can imagine his surprise, when it was a little old lady even smaller looking than Mrs. O’Grady from down the hall at his and Bucky’s apartment. The little woman had white hair done up in a modern hairdo and was wearing a nice modest dress of dark blue with little red flowers on it. At first Steve was unsure that she was their contact until she looked him in the eye and Steve saw that same stubborn determination that he saw in the mirror every day for the last ten years of his life.

                “Captain Rogers, I presume,” She asked and Steve straightened his spine just a hair at her tone. It reminded him a little too much of the school house teachers in Brooklyn. “It is a lovely day today, isn’t it? Such lovely weather we’re having this time of year.” Steve remembered this line from the Brooklyn lab where he got the Serum, and remembered Peggy telling him the words in reply.

                “Yes, it is,” he said, “But I always carry an umbrella.” The little lady smiled and Steve saw that she wasn’t as old as he first had thought. Her back was as straight as an arrow and there was very little evidence of age other than her whitened hair. She motioned the others to follow her to a hotel just down the street, and the Commandoes in training followed her like little ducklings; Steve leading the charge. Bucky ribbed Steve the whole way about him getting into the spy game and Steve just bushed redder and redder; the more Bucky pressured him to give up where he had learned it.

When they finally got to the hotel Steve was beet red and rushed into his room to be alone for a while. He stayed in there sketching pictures of Peggy and Bucky, and of his mother and father, until Bucky came up and hauled him out of the room to join the gang in a game of poker. Needless to say, Steve lost the first round, but to the surprise of everyone but Bucky, he cleaned them all out on the next three hands. No one expected the sweet, blushing Steve Rogers to have such a good poker face, or to have the skills to clean them all out of their chocolate bars and Lucky Strikes. Bucky was glad that Steve took his Cigarettes; it was an excuse to quit. It was late in the evening, when a familiar voice came floating through the lobby and into the impromptu ops room where Steve and the Commandoes sat playing poker.

Steve smiled big and bright and stood up. He took his winnings and left to greet the old man.

                “Sean,” Steve said brightly, when he saw the old man. The old man gaped at Steve for a moment, before he thumped his cane on the floor and enveloped Steve in a big hug; which Steve returned with gentle care not to break the man’s brittle old bones.

                “Stevie boy,” Sean said as he pulled back, “you look like a mighty strong lad, there; all dolled up and slick.” Steve smiled and laughed. Behind him he heard the sound of Bucky clearing his throat. Turning around to see his friend, Steve smiled shyly at Bucky.

                “Sean,” Steve began, “This is Bucky, my best friend, and my new unit.” Slowly and careful not to get the man confused, Steve pointed out each of his friends and introduced them by name. “The one in the bowler hat with the big mustache is Dugan,” Dugan smiled and shook the man’s hand.

                “Nice to meet you, sir,” Dugan said, “Timothy Dugan, but everyone calls me Dum Dum.” Sean shared a laugh with Dugan about that before Steve moved on to the next man.

                “That’s Gabriel Jones,” Steve said as he pointed out to Gabe, “he’s our language expert; Speaks French and German.” Gabe shook the old man’s hand politely. “The one on his left is Jim Morita from Fresno, California. And on his right is Jacques Dernier, a member of the French Resistance,” Jacques nodded his head and smiled. “And this one,” Steve said as he pulled Falsworth closer, “is James Montgomery Falsworth of His majesty’s 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade.” Falsworth and Sean shared a moment of tense silence before Sean’s face broke into a cheerful grin.

                “I see even you Limey’s can do something right,” Sean said and Falsworth laughed.

                “Only because this devil,” he said whilst pointing at Steve, “has more guts than most, and is just insane enough to go on a one man rescue mission behind enemy lines to rescue his friend.” Sean looked at Steve, who had the good sense to blush in embarrassment.

                “This is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said to get back on track and Bucky stepped forward to shake the man’s hand.

                “Nice to meet ya, sir,” he said, “call me Bucky.” Sean grinned and shook Bucky’s hand with surprising strength.

                “’Tis a pleasure to meet you all,” Sean said. “If you’re all going after those devil Nazis the way I think ya are, then you’ve got more courage than all the men in Ireland, and are more off your rockers than Old Joe was.” Steve laughed and so did the rest of the team. The group stayed up for a while talking about a few things; exchange of rumors and gossip, before the first of the Commandoes had to call it quits for the night and went off to bed. More of the team soon followed, and soon it was just Sean and Steve alone with Bucky, chatting about Steve’s family and some of the stories about his father.

It was not long before midnight that Steve asked Sean about where his family came from.

                “You mentioned before that the House of Rogers was considered to be the Royal line,” Steve said. “I don’t know much about Numenor or my people, just the few tales my mom told me before she died. Could you tell me about where they came from?” Sean sat back and looked very serious, thinking carefully and looking very thoughtful.

                “Well,” he said finally, “if ye be wantin’ answers about the House of Rogers, then ye might want to go see the Stewards of the estate. They might be able to give you better answers to yer questions than I could. They live in the big manor up on the hill, and they take care of the house and the grounds. They’re Numenorean’s too, so I hear. I think you could get more accurate answers from them than this old Irishman.” Steve thought it over and nodded before he smiled at Sean and stood up. Groaning as he stretched out the kinks in his back, Steve straightened his clothes and shook Sean’s hand.

                “Thank you, Sean, for the stories and the information,” he said, “I think I will pay my family home a visit. Goodnight, sir.” And with those parting words, Steve went upstairs and to his room for bed; Bucky not far behind him.

~*~*~**~*

* * *

 

It was very hard for Steve to muster the courage to visit the giant manor. He wondered and turned the thoughts over in his head, wondering if he was good enough for his family name; good enough to take on the duties that being the son of the House of Rogers came with. He mused over this in his room for several hours that morning, before Bucky came in and found him pacing a hole in the carpet and chewing on his thumb. Bucky laughed at the ridiculousness of his best friend, and asked what was wrong.

                “What if I am not what they want, Bucky,” he asked with all the nervous worry that came from being a 90lb asthmatic from Brooklyn born with absolutely nothing. “I mean, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn, for God’s sake. I’m no prince! I’m not some great tribal leader! I just do what I think is right. Does that make me special?” Bucky smiled and pursed his lips trying to hold in his mirth, but it was useless and he started to chuckle. Steve’s face pulled into a sullen frown, as Bucky continued to laugh and chuckle with shaking shoulders. Finally Bucky cracked a bright grin, and pulled Steve into a one armed hug. Steve’s sullen look softened into a lighter smile.

                “Steve,” Bucky said, “you have got to be the biggest idiot in all of New York. You don’t see that it is because you do what is right that people follow you. Why do you think I stuck around a these years? It sure wasn’t for your way with girls.” Steve gave Bucky a sour look and threw his arm off, giving him a light and playful shove. Bucky laughed as he stumbled but kept his eyes on Steve. “You’ve got to be blind not to see that there is something great within ya. You stick up for people, when most wouldn’t; and when most healthy guys were tryin’ to dodge the Draft, you wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept tryin’ until you found the right doc that could look past all your faults and see the amazing person you are underneath. Stevie, you’ve got a heart of gold ten times bigger than the body you had before; what do you think it’s like now? You’re a great guy, Steve; I am more than willing to follow you into the gates of Hell and back. You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy.” Bucky grabs Steve’s shoulder and squeezes it to get Steve to look at him. Bucky looks him in the eye and reminds him of that promise made all those years ago: “I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

Steve ducks his shoulders and suddenly he looks smaller, just like he did all those months ago; and Bucky knows that this is his Steve for sure, now. Only Steve could make himself look small with his enormous presence. Steve didn’t know that he inspired so much more than courage in the good people he met; he inspired honor and courage, and no small amount of valor. It was like God had taken the cloth he had made some of the greatest of heroes from Numenorean lore with and stuffed it into a body too small to contain it. The words of his grandfather came to mind, when he described Valorous Fingon, son of Fingolfin: “Valor was a fire and yet steadfast as the hills of stone…. Wise… kind… skilled in voice and hand. Truth and Justice he loved, and bore good will to all.” That was Steve Rogers to a t. Even as a skinny little asthmatic with a bum ticker and weak immune system, Steve was strong.

                “Thanks, Buck,” he said when he finally rallied his spirits. “I needed that. Would you and the guys come with me?” Bucky smiled and nodded.

                “I don’t know about the rest of the gang, but I can speak for myself and say yeah; I’ll go with ya, Steve.” Steve beamed and Bucky felt the warmth of the full body smile. Never was he more glad to have a brother like Steve; maybe not in blood, but in heart.

~*~*~*~*~*

* * *

 

Asking the rest of the commandoes to come was easy after that, and Steve was soon standing before the gilded wooden doors of the great manor. Steve’s mouth was agape at the intricate relief carving done on the door. It was so deep that it was almost sculpture and had elvish Tangwar runes carved on the arch of the door. The scene was of the arrival of the Numenorean’s on earth and continued in a moving story of the House of Arthadan. Steve snapped out of his artist admiration to grasp the door knocker and announce their presence.

The tall and fine boned man was not what Steve or the rest of the commandoes expected, when they thought of a steward for the estate. The man took one look at them, furrowed his brows in confusion before his gaze set on Steve. The man’s reaction was instantaneous. He paled and his eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his mouth dropped open in shock. The breath seemed to be stolen right out of him, and he gripped the door and frame so very tightly to keep from collapsing. In short, the man looked like he had seen a ghost.

                “Eru Illuvatar!” he gasped, visibly shaken. Steve stepped forward in concern.

                “Are you alright, sir,” he said and the man jerked and shook himself. It seemed as if Steve’s New York Brooklyn accent reminded him that Steve was only a guest. The steward pulled himself together and smiled warmly.

                “Forgive me, sir,” he said, “I thought you were someone else. Welcome to Minas Arnor, and the House of Rogers.” Steve smiled and introduced himself.

                “I am Steve Rogers, son of Joseph Rogers,” he said and again the man paled but not as severely as before. “These are my companions and my friends. I was told I could find out more about my family from the caretakers of the estate.”

                “Joseph Rogers,” the man asked in shock. “You are Joseph Arathan Rogers’ son?” Steve nodded and the man visible brightened. “By all the souls in heaven, I never thought I’d see this day,” he said and then called over his shoulder. “Aria, come quick!” a younger woman came rushing from around a corner and stopped with a gasp. “The king has returned,” he breathed low and reverently. “Please, come in. let it not be said that the Stewards of the house of Rogers were not gracious to their rightful lord.” Steve blushed and entered the entrance hall.

The sight of the grand entry took his breath away. Bucky and the rest of the commandoes stood in dumb shock at the sight of the great hall, before the Steward interrupted their gaping and lead them to the formal library, just off the main room. Steve sat down on the dark sofa and admired the large room. It was a library worthy of the name, with tall shelves that reached the ceiling filled with tomes and books. The stone floor was covered in a large rug that went from wall to wall, and what walls that didn’t have shelves of books were covered in large tapestries or oil paintings. The Steward brought them coffee and tea before settling down in a chair across from Steve.

                “You said you wanted answers, and this is the best place for them,” he said. The man laughed and shook his head for a moment. “Forgive me, in all the excitement I forgot to give you my name. I am Elendur, son Arandur, Steward of the Rogers’. My wife and I have been the caretakers of this manor for almost 30 years; since you father and mother left us, that is.” Steve set aside his coffee and clasped his hands before him. His eyes were pleading and hopeful as he looked at Elendur.

                “What can you tell me about my family,” he asked. “My mother wouldn’t speak of it to me but she told me stories, and old legends. She never gave me any history of my family, neither her nor Dad’s family. What can you tell me?” Elendur looked shocked and took a deep breath.

                “That is a very tall order, my lord, for me to answer,” he said very carefully. “If I might ask: what happened to Joseph, your father?” Steve’s gaze dropped from the man to his clasped hands and a look of longing and sorrow filled his countenance.

                “He was in the 107th, and got hit with mustard gas the year I was born,” he said. “He died from the damage it caused, when I was four.” Elendur’s face crumpled in sorrow and he hung his head.

                “And Sarah?” he asked.

                “TB, when I was eighteen,” Steve answered.  A shuddered breath left Elendur and Bucky saw a tear run down his face.

                “ _Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath_ ,” Bucky heard him say softly, as if in prayer. (May they find peace in death.) Steve’s eyes squeezed shut as he remembered his mother and father for a moment. “Your father was a good man; strong and brave; if a bit reckless.” Elendur chuckled and Steve smiled. “But he was wise and kind, and his loyalty was unbounded. He would have been proud to have such a fine son as you, my boy. I can see the valor of king Fingon within you, and the courage and bravery of Beren. The gentleness of Luthien is in your soul, and the strength and wisdom of Fingolfin is in your heart and mind. I see the many good qualities of all your ancestors within you, Steve. You need only to look in a mirror to know them, but I can tell you some things about your family history.” Steve’s head raised and he blushed, but the yearning in his eyes made Elendur smile. The steward stands and goes to one of the walls. Steve and the Commandoes stand and watch as he pulls aside one of the tapestries revealing a hidden door. Elendur unlocks it with an old skeleton key and gestures them to enter.

Steve takes point, with Bucky at his side and the commandoes bringing up the rear. Elendur follows closely behind Steve and Bucky through the short passageway and into a large and dark room.  Elendur moves passed the two soldiers to take one of the unlit torches on the wall. With a flick from a flint, the torch is lit and Elendur takes it from its place and touches a basin of oil with the flame. The flames run like racers around the room in the channels cut into the rock and bring light to the large room. Steve and Bucky’s eyes widen and jaws drop in awe. The commandoes gape at the sheer size of the room, and Steve takes in the artistry.

The room is massive; at least three stories tall, and with vaulted ceilings. The length of the room is longer than it is wide, with striped pillars and columns lining the walls creating alcoves and niches. Once Steve takes in the sight of the room, his eyes are drawn to the objects within. In each alcove is a large tapestry and statue; each depicting the likeness of one of the lords of the manor. There are fourteen sculptures in all, with thirteen in the alcoves and one standing alone at the end of the hall. Steve spots his Father’s statue near the door and looks down to the pedestal and sees his father’s name carved into the base; stating his date of birth and age at the time it was carved. Steve looks at each of the men and realizes that these are his ancestors; his father and grandfather and his father before. All of them lined up like soldiers, holding a mighty sword in their hands. They are all dressed in the same style of clothing Steve has come to associate with medieval or Numenorean. They have on a breastplate and shoulder guards making them look all the more impressive in size. Their bodies are covered from shoulders to toes in armor and their backs are draped with a long cloak. Their heads are unadorned save for a small circlet and they have their helmets at their feet. Steve has never seen his father look so detached and regal as he is depicted in the sculpture. It hardly looked like his smiling father at all. But Steve saw the gentle softness in his eyes and the small kind smile pulling at the statue’s lips, and remembered that look on his father’s face.

Finally Steve’s wandering took him to the very end of the hall. Here stood the most awe inspiring statue of all. The man was around Steve’s size and his armor was older looking and more ornate than the other armor that Steve’s forbears wore. There was a depiction of an eight pointed star on his breastplate and his armbands and guards looked like the wings of an eagle wrapped around his forearms with that same long tailed star at the center. Instead of a simple circlet on his head, there was an ornate band, almost like a crown, made to look like the branches of some vine with small eagle’s wings coming up to form a crest at the front surrounding a single jewel that had radiating points in the setting to make it look like a star. All of the sudden, it hit Steve that the star and the jewel were one and the same: the Star of Earendil, the Silmaril set in the heavens as a beacon of hope.

Steve was so enamored by the arms and ornamentation the Statue depicted that when he finally looked at the man’s face, he was overcome with shock. The man had his face. The likeness was so keen than he could have been Steve’s twin. Bucky gaped at the sight, eyes going back and forth between the statue and his friend. It was no wonder that the steward looked as if he had seen a ghost, when he set eyes on Steve. Steve turned to the steward and pointed at the statue, his hand shaking slightly from shock.

                “Who is that man,” he asked. The steward looked at the statue with respect and sorrow tinged pride.

                “That is Arthadan, Son of Amandil,” Elendur said and bowed his head in respect. “He is the last lord of Numenor from that house to be born in those lands. This is the father of your house, Steve Rogers,” the steward said with his head held high and his shoulders squared. “This is where you came from, my boy. You are the heir of the House of Arthadan; the last king of the Numenoreans of Terra.”

Steve looked back quickly to the man in shock and found him kneeling before him with his head bowed and hand resting over his heart. Steve looked up to his team and saw the shock on their faces and behind them saw the Steward’s wife also kneeling with her head bowed. Steve looked at Bucky and found him just as shocked. Steve gulped hard and set his hand on Elendur’s shoulder; helping him stand up.

                “I’m not a king. I’m no one special; I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.” Steve said honestly. Elendur smiled, warmed by that humility so deeply ingrained in Steve since his childhood.

                “Perhaps not to yourself,” Elendur said, “but to us, you are special. You are the fourteenth descendant of Arthadan, and his heir apparent. You were born into a house of royal blood. You may have lived the life of a common Man, but let me assure you that you are no common Man. You carry the blood of many heroes and kings in your ancestry; you carry the blood or Elros Tar Minyatur himself, within you.” Steve looked back at the statue and stepped around it to look at the painting hung on the wall behind it. It was a portrait of Arthadan, and Steve could not help but notice how alike they were; not just in face, but in the way they held themselves. Steve looked back at Bucky and sees a look of awe and respect directed at his friend that Steve had only just noticed. Steve gave Bucky a soft smile and Bucky grinned back.

                “Don’t worry, Steve,” he said as he wrapped his arm around Steve’s slightly higher shoulder. “We’ll keep it from goin’ to yer head.” Steve grinned and felt the worry, about not being the same man, melt away. Steve turned his gaze to his left to look at Bucky, and his eye caught on something shining from the shadows. Confusion and curiosity made him step out of Bucky’s embrace and walk over into the shaded alcove. “Steve?” Bucky asked as he stepped away. Steve ignored him and looked at the shadowed opening that he hadn’t seen. He walked into the alcove and through the doorway, disappearing into the darkness. Bucky and the team followed behind him in confusion, while Elendur followed with a soft smile on his face.

The door opened up into a smaller room, lit by a cracked window curtain. Steve threw open the drapes and gaped at the sight before him. There, set proudly on the table, was Arthadan’s armor, gleaming silver and blue in the pale light from the window. It was polished to sheen and didn’t look as if it were almost two thousand years old. At its side was the mighty kite shield, shining like a mirror in the sun, and it sat on top of Arthadan’s famous elvish spear and lance. It was long and had a curved blade like most elvish spears, and was engraved with gold and silver on the shaft. Steve ran his hands over the armor and lance; noting the still razor sharp edge on the blade. Another sight soon caught Steve’s eyes: Arthadan’s sword. Steve picked it up from the holder on a table, and ran his hands over the surface of the hilt and scabbard. The scabbard was finely made and inlaid with gold and what looked like silver, but in fact was Mithril. Steve grasped the handle of the blade and slowly pulled it out of its sheath.

Inch by inch, the blade appeared from its sheathing, revealing a silver steel blade, polished and oiled to keep it like new. Engraving appeared on the fuller of the blade in intricate Tangwar runes, imbuing the blade with ancient magic’s and Power. The guard of the sword had similar writing, more than likely giving the name of the sword and its intended user. A small mark at the very base of the blade, just before the cross guard, was etched; a single star, not unlike the star on the rest of the armor but smaller and symmetrical. When the blade was finally unsheathed it stood proudly in the air to a sharp point. The length of the sword appeared to be over four feet long, with enough length in the grip for it to be wielded with two hands; but the weight felt light enough that Steve thought he could wield it single handed. Steve gazed at the sword in awe, when he realized that the sword was made by none other than Celebrimbor himself.

Bucky and the Commandoes watched, in awe as Steve took an experimental swing with the sword, and heard it ring slightly as the sharp blade cut through the air. Steve put the sword back in its sheath and set it back down. Steve glanced up at his friends and saw another heirloom adorning a dummy. Steve walked over to the dummy and pulled the mail-shirt off it. Steve held it up to the light and tossed it lightly in his hands, testing its weight. Steve turned his questioning gaze back to the Steward and held up the shirt.

                “Ah, I see you have found Arthadan’s most prized piece of armor,” he said. “That is a shirt of Mithril rings, forged by Celebrimbor as a gift for Arthadan’s coming of age. Arthadan was a little bit smaller than you in the shoulders and chest, but I think that the shirt will fit you just fine.” Steve gaped at the man and looked back at the shirt again, with more reverence than before. Steve knew how valuable Mithril was, and the thought that this was a gift, made his head spin. In a pique of curiosity, Steve took off his jacket and shirt, and pulled the Mithril mail shirt on over his undershirt. It fit perfectly; as if it were tailored to fit him. It didn’t pinch, when he stretched his arms in different positions, or restrict his movement. It was perfect. Steve looked back up to his friends with a shy and boyish smile; almost as if to ask ‘do you like it?’

                “You look like a true knight, Captain,” Falsworth said and Steve beamed and blushed. The Commandoes all commented on the look and how nice the mail fit him, but only Bucky commented on the protection.

                “It’s one more layer of armor for ya, Steve,” he said looking Steve up and down. “If legend holds true about that stuff, it should be able to stop even a bullet.” Steve nodded and looked at Elendur.

                “It is yours, my lord,” he said. “By right of birth, it is your inheritance. Keep it, for luck.” He smiled as Steve pulled on his outer clothes and hid the very valuable chainmail shirt underneath layers of cheap cotton. “Oh, and one more thing, my lord,” Elendur said and pulled a small piece of twine from around his neck. “This was your father’s. It was his father’s before him and now it is yours.” Elendur handed Steve the twine and Steve saw what was on it: a silver signet ring with the seal of his house. Steve smiles watery and took it off the string. After a moment of contemplation, Steve pulled his dog tags off his neck and put the ring on the chain. With it there, Steve thought that it would bring him luck. After one last sweep of the room Steve’s eyes fell on the most valuable treasure of them all. Resting around the neck of a headless dummy was a pendant on a Mithril chain. Steve walked closer to get a good look and gasped at the beauty and intricacy of the detail work. It was done in solid Mithril and shaped into an oval. The pendant bore the seal of the House or Arthadan: the Star of Earendil shaped from cut white jewels. Surrounding the white stones were tiny blue Sapphires in a ring of rubies that flashed with fire, and silver Mithril that shone like the moon. The whole thing was banded with Mithril and small rubies at the very tips of the oval. It looked like Steve’s Shield would look, and Steve took this as a sign. He reached out, and with careful hands, he plucked it from around the neck of the dummy.  Elendur nodded at the silent inquiry, and Steve pulled the pendent around his head and felt it come to rest on his breastbone.  The chain was just long enough that it fell just above his dog-tags.

Armed with his family heirlooms and trinkets for luck, Steve felt like he was finally ready to take on Schmidt, and defeat HYDRA. Steve and the commandoes leave the room and the rest of the precious heirlooms behind, and go back to the library, where Steve is given a scroll that maps out his entire family tree; dating back in some places almost six thousand years. Steve is in awe at how much of his family history is recorded on the paper, and his jaw drops in shock when the data reveals to him that he is a genetically three quarter’s elvish Numenorean. That news shocks Bucky, who can only think of elves as strong and healthy warriors and lords; not the weak, frail, and sick little thing that Steve was not too long ago. Elendur gives Steve another book detailing the genealogy of Arthadan’s descendants, and Steve is shocked to find Bucky’s name right there with his; at only half Numenorean and one quarter elvish, it turns out that Bucky’s mother is descended from Arthadan’s second son in a more broken line of succession.

Steve is the last of Arthadan’s descendants from an unbroken line of succession from father to son. It is a burden on Steve to be the last of that bloodline, but Steve is used to having a weight on his shoulders that is hard to move. So with “thank you” ’s and smiles, and a nice lunch from the stewards, Steve and the commandoes go back to their hotel in town to begin the long and arduous rigors of training to make themselves a team.

* * *

~~~*~****~***

* * *

 

It is January in Belgium and it is a wet cold. Bucky hates it, but as long as they are taking down bases and freeing captured soldiers, Bucky thinks he can suck it up and deal with it. With every victory against Schmidt and HYDRA, Bucky feels the crushing vice around his chest loosen. He hates Schmidt and HYDRA with a burning ferocity that he has never felt before. The only one he hates more is that little weasel of a man, Dr. Zola. Steve didn’t know even the half of what that little mad doctor was up to in that back room, but with the way he’s been feeling lately he has a pretty good idea.

January had been a pretty good month, just like December had been. Ringing in the New Year on the battlefield was depressing and made him want to drink until he passed out. France was their first mission, it was a success in many respects; but Bucky could only just barely keep his lunch, when he saw the state the prisoners were in: so many of them were worse than he had been after a few weeks in the back room. After they blew the base sky high, Steve and his men went to work helping the sick and injured back to the allied front. Some of them didn’t even make it. Bucky gulped down hard as he remembered holding the hand of one prisoner that had contracted a bad case of pneumonia along with a bad infection from a wound not properly treated. The guy was raving and barely lucid enough to realize that he had been rescued. The guy died with a smile on his bloody lips and tears of joy in his eyes, when Bucky told him he was going home. Bucky and Steve clung to each other as the commandoes gave him a battlefield funeral. Steve cried silent tears with Bucky as the laid the still smiling corpse in the earth. Bucky had felt worse than Steve did about it; he had basically lied to the man in his last moments. With no time to mourn the dead, Steve had ordered the wounded and sick to be taken to an extraction point to be airlifted back to a London hospital. Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandoes had waited until the last man was safely away before they moved to take their places on the plane.

Christmas was blue and depressing for Bucky but at least he had Steve with him, so he’d figured that he’d gotten his Christmas present early. Steve was never going to let anyone not celebrate Christmas, and so Steve made sure that they were on leave at Christmastime and got each and every one of them gifts. Steve was like that: always giving, even when he had barely enough for himself. Here and now, Bucky was enjoying the after mission high from blowing the Belgian base up. Steve had found them a sympathetic town nearby and Bucky was walking the streets, window-shopping. Bucky wanted to give his little sisters a gift from his travels, but he knew better than to send them some war trophy; that would make their father mad. Besides walking down the streets helped clear his head when the screaming got too loud.

It was while he was walking down the street of the Belgian town that Bucky saw it. He was looking in the window of a Pawn shop, when he spotted something that looked familiar. Being an American soldier was tricky business in occupied Belgium, most of the commandoes went out it civilian clothing to fool the German soldiers in the towns. Bucky was wearing the clothes of a simple businessman today and he found that people ignored him more if he smiled and slipped into shops. Bucky slipped into the pawn shop and went right for the large trunk he saw from the window. It was simple and brown with a sturdy lock on it. It was still sealed tight with a sticker from the train station on its seam. Bucky looked it over multiple times to be sure he was right, before he approached the shop keeper about it.

                “Hi,” he said to the man in French, “that large trunk over there, where did it come from?” the shop keeper put on his glasses and walked around the counter to look closer at the trunk in question. He hummed and hawed for a moment, before deigning to answer.

                “Ah, yes,” he said, pulling his glasses off to gesture with them. “This was an unclaimed piece of baggage from the old train station. They kept it in the lost luggage room until they closed the station down and it was sold here.” Bucky nodded and pursed his lips as if in contemplation. Bucky knew how to play the game and he wanted the man to think he was only slightly interested. “It wasn’t even opened, as far as I know. And it is in fine condition for its age. Only 73 francs and it’s yours.” Bucky smiled behind his hand. That was a couple of dollars; expensive but not too much considering what could be inside if it really was his Grandfather’s lost trunk. He hummed behind his hand, in a displeased sound of contemplation.  The flustered man got even twitchier before he spoke again, “65 francs and not a penny more!” Bucky grinned in his hand; Hook, line and sinker.

                “Deal,” Bucky said and shook his hand. After paying for the parcel and lugging it back to the inn that the Commandoes were staying at, Bucky set the trunk down on the living room floor. With the aid of one of Gabe and Morita’s tools, Bucky popped the lock on the trunk and cut the seal. With a deep breath Bucky closed his eyes and threw open the lid. When he opened his eyes he was met with a fantastic sight: his family’s fortune. Inside was his grandmother’s long lost wedding veil as well as the circlet that was passed down in his family for years. Alongside these priceless treasures were more valuable ones: his grandfather’s silver goblets and the silver dishes that were used in their wedding; a set of crystal bowls and cups for wine and spirits; a large bag containing solid gold coins, and lastly a handful of cut gems and some jewelry.  Bucky’s face split into a wide-mouthed grin as he laughed and let the gold and jewels run through his fingers.

When the commandoes came back Bucky’s grin was still there but far less almost insane with happiness, and more overjoyed. He was sorting the jewels and had already counted out the coins, stacked in neat columns at his crossed legs and feet. Steve’s mouth gaped open, when he saw what Bucky was doing, and the rest of the Commandoes weren’t that much better at hiding their shock.

                “Bucky,” Steve asked slowly, “where did you get that?” Dum Dum whistled long and low as he counted the stacks of coins.

                “Geez, Barnes,” he said, “what did you do, rob a bank or somethin’?” Bucky grinned but shook his head.

                “Nope,” he said with a pleased pop at the end and a cheesy grin. “I bought it.” The looks of incredulous disbelief brought a laugh and an even bigger smile. “This trunk belonged to my grandfather; he and my grandmother lost it on the way to America. Somehow it made its way to the train station here and went unclaimed. When the station closed, the unclaimed luggage was sold to the pawn shop in town. I just happened to find it at the shop and got it for a steal at 65 francs.” Steve’s look of incredulous shock made Bucky laugh again with giddy delight.

                “And it was never opened,” Jones asked. Bucky shook his head and continued to grin.

                “Nope,” he said, “the sticker on the seam was unbroken, and the lock intact.” The shock on every ones faces was more than enough, to make Bucky giggle and grin. “These jewels aren’t even the most valuable thing in the trunk. My grandma’s veil and the circlet made of Mithril and diamonds are worth more than all this gold and jewels to me. These are precious heirlooms my family had thought were lost, and now I’ve found them!” Bucky bounced a bit before his face looked a bit more sober. “I’m gonna send the trunk and valuables back to my folks with a few letters. My mom and pop could sure use the money from these stones to get my sisters some nice things.” Steve smiled at Bucky’s selflessness. Steve promised Bucky that they would get Stark to fly it back to New York with one of his assistants so it could get to his family posthaste. Bucky smiled at that and rubbed at his fluttering belly. The excitement had given his stomach butterflies and Bucky was unsure how to get rid of them. He shrugged his shoulders mentally and figured it would go away on its own.

Little did he know that in just a months’ time, that fluttering would change the course of his fate forever.

* * *

 

TBC...


	6. A change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky starts having pains before a mission, and the Commandoes find out something very unusual about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the big event! please review. I need them.   
> also Chapter ten was just finished, and I am moving into the more woven world of this series. wish me luck!

February is a cold and dreary month in Europe; if it isn’t snowing, it is raining and freezing; making the roads slick with ice. This time it was sunny, and without the thick blanket of white on the ground, it was a deceptive cold. The big mission on the Howling Commandoes’ roster this month is a factory base in Czechoslovakia, but that base is further down the line. Right now they are in a remote mountain range in most likely Austria, but it could have been Germany. It was hard to tell with the weather and so very little markers to go by. There was a base in the valley that was practicing weapon’s testing and conducting more of Zola’s human experiments. Bucky as well as Steve felt the burning need to capture and destroy anything and everything in that base, so that was just what they were going to do.

Preparation for the infiltration and subsequent destruction of the base had taken days to plan, and Steve was adamant that, if anything were to go wrong with the execution of the plan during the early stages, they were to fall back and regroup for a better plan.  Steve didn’t want to risk the lives of his men or the prisoners being held captive there. Bucky was in complete agreement on this. The plan was for Bucky to scout ahead and give the team reconnaissance about the layout and number of enemy combatants, before taking out as many of the guards at a distance as possible, without being spotted, to give ground cover for Steve and the rest to get through the main gates and into the courtyard. From there Bucky was to rejoin the group for the final infiltration of the base, his job being to get the prisoners out of the stockades and away from the fighting before returning to the group to watch Steve’s back.

This was the plan, but of course, when do things ever go according to plan.

It is in the cold and predawn morning of the tenth that Steve and the Commandoes execute their plans, and it is just shortly after Bucky reaches a ridge to set up his sniper scope that everything goes to hell. He already has his pack on the ground and is setting up his rifle, when a sharp pain throws Bucky to the ground with a sharp, choked scream. The pain is like a white hot poker being drawn through his body from front to back. It clenches around his middle like a vice and zings down his belly to between his thighs. The first pain is so shocking and unexpected that Bucky’s breath is stolen right from his lungs.  Bucky knew that pain better than he had ever wished to know it: a contraction, a strong one. At first Bucky doesn’t know what to think, then the pain came back and harder than before. That one tore a scream from Bucky’s throat. It wasn’t a loud one, but rather a strangled and choked sound. Bucky knew that he was too early for the baby to be born and live, and the thought caused him to whimper in grief. A strangled whine was torn from his body, when the next one clenched his body in a vice. It was still early enough to get help and to call off the mission; and Bucky knew that he would be of no help to anyone for hours or even days after he was through delivering what was left of his baby. Bucky didn’t want to, but, when another contraction gripped his middle and made his whole body clench up in pain, he had no choice. He reached for his radio and radioed in to the temporary base camp for the Commandoes.

                “This is Sergeant Barnes, calling in,” he said into the phone, “I repeat: this is Sergeant Barnes calling in.” He waited for what felt like an eternity and was beginning to feel the buildup of another contraction, when Morita finally answered.

                “Sergeant Barnes,” he heard him reply over the static. “What is your current status?” On the other end Steve had come up beside Morita to listen for Bucky’s scout report. What he heard along with the rest of the commandoes, made his blood run cold: Bucky’s strangled groan of pain.

                “Bucky!” he said and grabbed the radio receiver from Morita, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” Bucky didn’t answer. Steve heard his pain filled whimpers and sobs and was beginning to panic a little. “Bucky, are you hit?” still no answer. Steve gulped down his fear and put every ounce of his commanding “Captain’s tone” into his voice. “Sgt. Barnes, what is your current status? Sgt. Barnes, do you copy? Bucky, answer me, Damn it!” that got him some attention from the rest of the Commandoes, their eyes widening in shock at squeaky clean Rogers actually swearing. It seemed to get Bucky’s attention too, because he answered the radio call.

                “This is Barnes,” he panted out through the end of his contraction, “I need an evac at my position; Mission abort. I repeat: Mission abort!” Steve heard Bucky’s deep panting breaths and felt his worry increase tenfold. “Steve,” Bucky said with barely contained fear in his voice. “I need help.”

                “What is it, Buck?” he asked, “What’s wrong?” Steve motioned for the rest of the commandoes to start packing their gear and prepare to abort the mission. Dugan and Jones start stowing away the gear into the captured truck they had acquired the previous day. They still have the camera rolling as they put away the weapons and field equipment.

This was not only a base infiltration, but a fact gathering mission. There were rumors that this base was still in contact with the rest of the Nazi party and had data on some of the camps that Steve and the others had heard about further in Nazi occupied territory. Steve was reluctant to bring the cameras and have his men’s attention being divided between the fight and capturing footage, but it was either have his men do it, or bring along another whose sole job was to record film; and Steve didn’t want anyone else getting put in danger if he could help it. Jones could help with the camera, and Dugan had a sharp eye for getting good films.

Steve heard Bucky panting and gasping through the receiver and waited for his answer.

                “Something’s wrong, Steve,” he said and grit his teeth in pain as another contraction began to build. “It hurts!” Steve heard Bucky’s strangled groan and immediately feared the worst.

                “What hurts, Bucky?” he asked as they finished gathering up the equipment and stowed it in the truck. “Where did they get ya?”

                “My… my… oh, GOD!” Bucky screamed and the line cut off mid scream. The whole team blanched in fear, and moved ten times faster to get to Bucky’s last known location.

                “Bucky,” Steve said into the radio. “Bucky! Just hold on; we’re coming to you. We’re gonna get ya, just hang in there!” Steve dropped the radio receiver into Morita’s hands and turned to Dugan. “I need you to get this truck up to that ridge as far as you can, Dugan. I’ll do the rest; you just get me close to him.”  Dugan nods and climbed into the driver’s seat with Jones to help him get the truck started.

 Steve settled into the canvas covered box with the rest of the unit. Jacques is worrying his hat in his hands and Falsworth is gripping his knees in an attempt to keep them from shaking. While they are doing this Morita is on the radio, desperately trying to get HQ on the line. The rag-tag group of commandoes are fond of Bucky, seeing as he is one of the youngest of their group; and they do not want to watch him die if they don’t have to. Steve is so busy worrying that he doesn’t notice that the camera sitting on a crate in the far back is still rolling.

The truck makes an awful coughing sound as it plugs its way up the hill before the incline becomes too steep for it to continue. Steve climbs out of the back and turns his ears to listen. Sure enough on the edge of his hearing, Steve hears a choked howl of pain.

                “Anything on the radio, Jim,” Steve asked, and turned back to him. Morita shakes his head in frustration.

                “Nada,” he says. “This valley must be blocking our signal from getting out. We need to either get to higher ground or out of this valley before we can get a signal back to base.” Steve nodded in acquiescence before he took off running.

                “Keep trying to contact them. I’ll get Bucky and bring him back here,” he said over his shoulder as he made for the top of the ridge. Steve jumped over logs and animal holes as he climbed the ridge. Soon he caught sight of Bucky. He was curled up on his side, with his arms wrapped around his middle and groaning in pain. Steve dashed up the hill and called out to get his attention. “Bucky!” he cried out and Bucky lifted his head to see who it was. A small genuine smile graced his face, when he saw Steve bounding up the muddy, leaf covered ground.

                “Steve,” he managed to gasp out as Steve collapsed to his knees beside him. Then another pain hit and folded him double again, dragging a howl of pain from his chest; strangled in his attempt to keep quiet. Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s body carefully and lightly, trying to find where Bucky was hurt.

                “Where is it, Buck,” he asked when he could find no sign of a wound. “Where’d they get ya?” Bucky shook his head and tried to unclench himself from around his middle.

                “I don’t know,” he answered, “I just felt this pain lance through me. Oh, GOD!” he cried out his middle clenching again. “It feels like my insides are on fire!” Steve paled, and gently pulled Bucky’s arms from around his middle; praying that Bucky wasn’t gut shot. He let out a small sigh of relief when he didn’t see a wound in Bucky’s gut but still put his hand to his belly to feel for any kind of internal wound. Bucky’s jacket prevented him from feeling much, but Steve felt the unnatural hardness of Bucky’s abdomen and pulled away.

~~*~*~*~*~*

* * *

 

Bucky knew that he was in labor, but he was too scared to tell Steve that. He didn’t know what was happening. The pain was too strong to be just a regular miscarriage, but he was too early for it to be labor. He was scared, plain and simple. He didn’t know what would happen to him. If he was having a baby right here, it would be so premature it would die, and he didn’t want to go through that again. It was the last thing he ever wanted. But what he wanted even less was to have Steve witness him giving birth to a stillborn, seeing the despair it would bring him, and put two and two together and realize that this was not his first baby.

He felt Steve touch his belly through his coat, but removed it a moment later. He didn’t know why he unclenched after that, but when the next contraction rolled over him, he was completely unprepared, and screamed. His back arched and his middle tightened for a long agonizing minute. He grabbed Steve’s arm and fisted his sleeve, trying to ground himself through the pain. There was no urge to push just yet, but he could feel his body opening, preparing to give birth.  He didn’t want to give birth; he didn’t want to lose another baby. He rolled onto his side, once the pain had passed and found himself in Steve’s strong arms. He sobbed into Steve’s broad chest and clung tightly to his friend.

*~~*~*

* * *

 

When Bucky had arched his back off the ground, Steve was genuinely afraid for his friend’s life.  Bucky’s whole body was a taut as a bow, before he collapsed and rolled onto his side. Steve gathered Bucky into his arms and held him close. Bucky began to sob in pain and fear into his chest, and it made him afraid of what was happening to his friend. Gently, so as to not jostle him too much, Steve slipped his arms around Bucky’s back and under his legs, and as carefully as he could, Steve picked him up. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and Steve bent slightly to pick up Bucky’s pack and rifled scope. Throwing the straps of the bag over one shoulder and the rifle around his neck, he carefully turned and made his way down to the truck.

They had to stop at least two times, when Bucky was gripped by the mysterious pain, before they were in sight of the others. Bucky had sunk his teeth into the thick cloth of Steve’s uniform, and used it as a gag of sorts to keep himself quiet. When they were finally in view of the others, Steve picked up the pace and moved as quickly as he dared to get to the truck. Steve dropped the bag and rifle, before he had to gently pry Bucky’s jaws from his clothes and his arms from around his neck. Falsworth is the first to approach him, when he sat Bucky down in the back of the truck.

                “What happened?” Falsworth asked as Steve climbed into the back.

                “Jim!” Steve called out instead, “drive! Take us back to base. Bucky needs help.” Steve turned back to his friend as the truck lurched to life and began racing down the ridge to the valley floor where they could get out and back to HQ. Bucky arched again and Steve pulled him into his arms to hold him still. Tears had begun to run down Bucky’s face and he clung to Steve like a life line.

                “What’s wrong with him, Cap?” Jones asked as he clung to the bars of the canvas covering. Steve shook his head and looked at Falsworth.

Falsworth was the best strategist on the team next to Steve, and he was also a pretty good field medic, when they needed one. More often than not it was Falsworth and Jacques treating their wounds, so in this Steve differed to him.

                “Captain,” Falsworth said, “tell me exactly what he told you about the pain.” Steve swallowed hard and looked back and Bucky, caught again in the throes of pain. He was crying in earnest now, whining and whimpering with pain and fear.

                “He didn’t say anything,” Steve answered. “All he said was it felt like his insides were on fire.” Steve gulped and paled. “He didn’t have any wounds that I could see, and he didn’t have a gut wound.” Something came to Steve just then that made his blood run cold. “Bucky never had his appendix out. Could it be that?” Falsworth paled at the thought.

                “Dear, God, I hope not,” Falsworth said. “We won’t be able to tell, until we get him back to base. For now all we can do is try and make him comfortable.” Steve’s look of incredulousness was mirrored by Jones, and Dugan. Bucky howled again with pain and gripped Steve’s leg, hard.

                “Comfortable!?” Steve asked in incredulous fear. “How do we make him comfortable, Monty? He’s in pain!”

                “We can’t do anything, until we get to base!” Falsworth shouted back, “If we try to give him any drugs to help, we might make it worse, or even kill him!”

Steve felt utter helplessness for the first time in months at this. He didn’t want Bucky to die! He was so scared that if he did the wrong thing, he would kill his best friend. Bucky was gasping for breath and crying into Steve’s pants leg, so Steve  pulled him closer and buried his face in Bucky’s dark hair. The truck became quiet after that; the only sounds that of the truck and from Bucky as his belly spasmed again.

Suddenly the sound of the engine changed from a steady purr to that of a grinding cough. The truck slowed down, lurching and revving before there was a loud bang, and the engine died all together. The truck quietly coasted to a stop a few miles from their original temporary camp inside the valley, and nowhere near the area where the SSR had set up their HQ. Once it had completely stopped, Morita could be heard trying to restart the engine. It stuttered and whirred but never came to life. Morita cursed in Japanese and climbed out of the cab.

                “I think we got a problem,” he said once he came around to the back. He paled, when he saw how bad Bucky’s state was but pushed onward. “I think our ride just died. I don’t know how bad it is, so don’t ask me if I can get it started. Bucky told us all yesterday that the damned thing wouldn’t last for very long, and we pushed it pretty damn hard today. I think the engine might have died.”  Dugan stood up as best he could and climbed out to take a look. “How is he, Cap?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer him with anything other than shake his head and shrug his shoulders in helpless confusion. Bucky was pale and his face was drawn with pain. His coat had sweat stains appearing on the collar and his hair was completely soaked and clinging to his forehead and neck. There were dark smudges appearing under his eyes, and his lips had even lost their color, while his cheeks were flushed from exertion. He looked like he was dying.

                “I wish I knew, Jim,” Steve finally answered and then Bucky’s body bowed again. His eyes flew open wide and his mouth opened with a strangled scream. Steve held Bucky’s shoulders and Falsworth and Jacques tried desperately to pin his thrashing legs down. Dugan dame rushing back and took the poor Frenchman’s place with Falsworth.

                “Nothin’ to it,” he grunted out as he pinned Bucky’s left leg, “the engine’s completely dead. We’ll never get her started again.” Steve felt his shoulders droop and he looked back to Morita.

                “I can try getting’ a line out to HQ, but with these mountains,” he said shaking his head, “we’re caught in a dead zone, Cap. The signal keeps bouncing off these cliffs and blocking any calls we can get out. We’re on our own for a while, Cap.” Steve felt his shoulders drop completely and he looked back at Bucky, who was bent double again with his arms wrapped around his middle. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do.

~~**~*~*~*~

* * *

 

Bucky is unaware of what is going on around him. All he could register was the unbearable pain and the feeling of abject despair as he felt his body betraying him again; forcing him to lose another baby. He barely registered the truck stalling and stopping, but he felt Steve cling to him like he had never before. Steve was scared, and so was Bucky, but he couldn’t tell him what was happening anymore; his body was focused on the task of labor and his mind was drawn in, focused on his bodily functions.

The arguing drifted in and out of his consciousness, while he tried desperately not to scream. Suddenly he felt something within him change and he felt a heavy weight he didn’t even realize was there, drop lower and slot into place. He felt the pain change and his body bowed. The change was so startling that he screamed. It was strangled and choked off, but it was a scream. His legs thrashed as he tried to get purchase for leverage, but he couldn’t get it. His boots kept slipping on the metal. Then he felt hands on his ankles and he began to lash out. He didn’t do any damage, and soon his legs were pinned. He curled up on himself again as he felt something shift and move. Suddenly he felt a very familiar sensation inside his belly: a sensation akin to that of a rubber band snapping. Bucky’s eyes flew open and he panted for a moment as his awareness came back to him.

Steve was holding his arms and Dugan and Falsworth had his legs. Jones was hovering behind Falsworth and Jacques was beside Dugan, as if the bigger man had taken his place. Morita was the only one that was not curled up near the group. He knelt by the edge of the opening as if he had just stepped into the back. His form blocked out a great deal of light, leaving him silhouetted and in shadows. Bucky gasped for breath and felt it: the light pop, and then his pants were wet.

                “Somethin’ popped,” Bucky gasped with wild eyes. He turned his frightened gaze up to Falsworth and saw confusion at first, then realization and panicked horror. Bucky fell back onto Steve’s chest and gathered his strength while he could, because this was going to be the hard part: giving birth.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~

* * *

 

Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion, when he heard Bucky’s statement. He turned his confused gaze to Falsworth, who still held his place in front of Bucky. Falsworth let go of Bucky’s leg and maneuvered himself to between Bucky’s legs. He was just about to place his hands on Bucky’s belly to try and determine what had happened, when he noticed a growing wet stain on Bucky’s pants at the crotch. His brows furrow in confusion for a moment, before something seemed to click in his mind. He quickly moved to place his hands on Bucky’s lower abdomen and pressed down slightly. Bucky twitched and groaned with the uncomfortable pressure. Steve looked at Falsworth with growing confusion and frustration. After Falsworth removed his hands, he turned to Jones with a grim look on his face.

                “Give me the first aid kit, Private,” he said. “I need those supplies and medical equipment, fast!” Jones grabbed the kit and spotted the still running camera; still sitting on the crate they had set it on. He righted the device and turned to give the pack to Falsworth. Falsworth took the bag and grabbed the stethoscope out of the pack. He put the ear pieces in and placed the disk on Bucky’s lower abdomen, just below his navel.

                “Falsworth,” Steve asked in growing frustration, “what’s wrong with him? Do you know?” Steve watched the Englishman’s face for a moment and saw the exact moment Falsworth figured it out: Falsworth’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock as he stared at Bucky’s belly and wet trousers. “Falsworth, what is it?”

                “Dear God!” Falsworth gasped as he dropped the stethoscope. He looked completely stunned, for a moment, until Bucky arched again in pain. That snapped him out of it, and he began ordering the team around. “Jones, Dugan, help me get his trousers off. Morita, get me some of that medical alcohol; I’ll need it to clean my hands. Dernier, I need an assistant, so you’re it.” Jones translated for the Frenchman and Jacques nodded. “And, Captain?” Steve looked up at Falsworth with fear and uneasiness. Being out of control of a situation made him feel like that skinny kid from before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Falsworth seemed to assess this well enough. “You just keep holding Barnes, and give him support.”

Bucky gripped Steve’s arm again as he seemed to fight with something inside him. He screamed, long and loud, in complete agony, while the others tried to get him to quiet. They were still close enough in enemy territory that someone might hear. Steve finally put his hand over Bucky’s mouth to shut him up, and regretted the wounded animal sound that came out of his friend’s throat. Bucky was crying and was too pale for comfort.

Falsworth and Dugan made quick work of getting Bucky’s pants off, but they had to remove his spats and shoes first, before they simply cut off Bucky’s undergarments.  What they find, when they get them off, had Dugan and Jones’ eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers. Where there should be smooth skin behind the scrotum is instead an opening very similar to that of a woman’s; and right now Bucky’s vagina was leaking blood and other fluids. It was also gaping slightly as Bucky tried to fight the pressure growing within him. Falsworth looked shocked and morbidly fascinated by the sight, staring at it for a moment before he shook his head and went to work cleaning his hands. Jacques was the first one to snap out of his stupor and get to work. He gave Dugan and Jones a good slap to the back of their heads and directed his orders for Morita to Jones.

                “ _if you can’t get headquarters on the phone, then be useful and help us by taking those bed rolls and bandages and turning them into something to swaddle the baby in,”_  he said and Jones relayed the message. Morita grabbed the blankets they used as bed rolls and some of their large wound bandages and handed them over to Jacques.

The blankets were big and made of scratchy wool, but the linen bandages were soft enough to wrap the baby in, and the blankets would keep it warm. Jones moved further away from the action with Dugan and spotted the camera. In a pique of madness, he grabbed it and moved to get a front row view of the gaping hole as Bucky struggled through another contraction. Falsworth gave the two men a dirty look before refocusing on his task of washing his hands. Falsworth took a moment to thank someone that there were a pair of surgical gloves in their med kit, before he put them on. He motioned Jacques nearer with the large linen cloths.

Steve watched the whole exchange with frightened curiosity, until he heard the word baby from Jacques; that sent his jaw dropping to the floor. With him holding Bucky, Steve didn’t see what the others had, so he had no idea what was happening. Tired of being kept out of the loop, Steve spoke up.

                “Falsworth, what is happening?” he asked, “What is wrong with Bucky?” Falsworth looked up from his place between Bucky’s bent legs with surprised shock. In the madness after they had seen the cause of Bucky’s pain, Falsworth had all but forgotten that Steve was holding Bucky and was his best friend.

                “In a word, my dear Captain,” he said with a wry smile, “our Sergeant Barnes is in labor.” Steve’s jaw just about hit the floor. If the situation wasn’t so dire, it would have been a comical sight.

                “Labor?” he asked once he found his wits again, “as in… a… a baby?” Falsworth snorted.

                “That’s usually what occurs after labor, but yes, Captain; a baby,” he said with a cheeky smirk.

                “How? Wait a minute, don’t answer that,” he said when he got looks of restrained humor from the others. “I don’t wanna know.” Morita bit back a snort and began to giggle. Dugan began chortling and Jones joined in. Before long, the Commandoes were all laughing and giggling at Steve’s blunder. Steve smiled and chuckled a bit, before Bucky bent double and clutched his knees. The laughter died instantly, but the release that it brought had added a bit of cheer to the bleakness of the situation.

                “Whoa! Easy there, Sergeant Barnes,” Falsworth said as he positioned himself to gently probe the opening. “Don’t push! You could tear badly and we wouldn’t be able to do much for you.” Falsworth gently eased a finger into the orifice and probed around a bit. After just a second he felt something very hard touch the tip of his finger. “Oh, boy! It appears that this is an eager baby.” Falsworth grinned and Steve joined him. His stunned joy is infectious and the others start grinning as well. The only one not smiling is Bucky.

Bucky’s face is stained with tears and he tried not to bear down and push, but his body betrayed him and the urge to push was too strong to resist any longer. A harsh gasp left his throat as he finally bore down and pushed.

                “Rogers, get him up a little higher,” Falsworth ordered, “let gravity do some of the work. It might take the pressure off his pelvis too.” Steve nodded and pulled Bucky up onto his bent knees. The change in the angle must have done something right, because no sooner had Steve gotten Bucky’s thighs on his knees, Bucky let out a howling screech and pushed; hard. “Whoa! Oh, wow!” Falsworth said reverently.

                “What,” Steve asked with wide eyes. “What is it? What happened?” Steve couldn’t see what was happening, and while he was grateful for that, he felt sad that he was missing out on witnessing a miracle happen.

                “Is that what I think it is?” Morita asked. There is awe in his voice and his eyes are wide and fixed on the place between Bucky’s legs.

                “What,” Steve asked again. “What is it?” Falsworth raised his head and looked at Steve with an amazed smile.

                “The head is peaking,” he said and Steve grinned. He looked down at Bucky and saw a look of despair, clouded with pain.

                “Did ya hear that, Buck?” Steve asked him with a big grin. “We can see the head! It’s almost over, Buck. Soon you’ll be holding your baby.”

 Bucky sobbed and cried but bore down again, when the pain returned in force. Despite the team’s desire to keep him quiet, he couldn’t keep from screaming. He bore down with every ounce of strength he could gather and screamed. Steve looked up at Falsworth with a grin and finally saw Gabe and Dugan with the portable field video camera. The sour look he gave them would have been enough to curdle milk.

Suddenly Bucky screamed, sharp and shrill, before Steve heard Falsworth cry out: “the Head is crowning!” The grin on Steve’s face plummeted, when Bucky’s scream choked off and his body went limp. Bucky’s head rolled back onto Steve’s shoulder and Steve could see that he was out cold.

                “Bucky!” Steve cried and began to gently shake his shoulders in an attempt to wake him up. “He’s out cold!” Steve looked up at Falsworth and Jacques and felt fear for his friend’s life and that of his unborn baby.

                “Dugan,” Falsworth said in a sickly sweet tone, “be useful and get me one of those smelling salts out of the kit, would you?” Dugan grabbed the kit and started searching for the packets. “Rogers, I need you to put your hand on his belly just below the navel.” Steve settled Bucky more securely on his chest and put his hand where he was told. “Good. Now I need you to gently press down with the contractions to get him to deliver the head. If we don’t get it out, the baby might suffocate.” Steve paled but did as he was told. He felt Bucky’s muscles tighten and harden under his hand, and he pressed down carefully. Bucky groaned and let out a pathetic whine, but he didn’t stir.

Dugan made a sound of triumph as he pulled the smelling salts out of the pack. He handed them to Jacques, who tore them open before he handed them to Falsworth. Falsworth carefully waved the packets under Bucky’s nose and, just as they were intended, Bucky stirred. He groaned and let out a low moan, before his eyes fluttered and opened.

                “Steve?” he asked groggily, before he moaned again as the pain began to build and pressure mount.

                “I’m right here, Buck,” Steve answered and took Bucky’s hand in his own. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Bucky gripped his hand in a vice like grip and grunted as the urge to push gripped him again.

                “Don’t fight it, Barnes,” Falsworth said and cupped his hands around the crown of the baby’s head. “Work with it! Push, when your body says to.” Bucky bore down again and screamed. His face started to go slack and his eyes roll up into his head, but Steve gave him a hard shake to his shoulders to snap him out of it. Bucky whimpered and whined as tears ran anew down his face. “PUSH!” Falsworth ordered, and Bucky bore down with an open mouthed scream.

                “ ** _It BURNS_**!” Bucky screamed out around a contraction. Steve held Bucky’s hand tight in his own, as Bucky struggled around the contraction and getting the baby’s head out. Falsworth’s grim face turned jolly and a bright grin broke out across his face.

                “Your baby has hair, Sergeant,” he said. “Little burnt colored tufts right now, but I think it might be blond!” Bucky sobbed and bore down even harder. Tears leaked from his clenched eyelids and his hand gripped Steve’s so tight that his knuckles were white. Suddenly Bucky let loose a blood chilling screech and went limp.

                “Bucky? Bucky!” Steve said as he shook his shoulders. “He’s out cold!”

                “Head’s birthed,” Falsworth said calmly. “The shoulders are going to be the tricky part, so we have to work carefully.”

Dugan’s eyes were riveted to the sight of a little head sticking out from between Bucky’s thighs, and he wasn’t the only one. Jones, Morita, and Dernier all had their eyes on the little head that had emerged from inside their Sergeant. Steve bit his lip and ever so carefully maneuvered so he could take a peek. When he did, his jaw dropped and he felt tears in his eyes. Once he stopped gawking, he took the salts from Jacques and waved them under Bucky’s nose. The effect was immediate, and Bucky stirred again. Steve grabbed Morita’s arm and pulled him over to the unoccupied side by Bucky.

                “Come on, Buck, just a little bit more, and you can hold your baby,” Steve encouraged. “Hold him up, Jim. I don’t think Bucky has much more strength left.” Morita grabbed Bucky’s arm and wedged his knees under Bucky’s thigh, with his arm around his back. The two men took most of the load from Bucky’s trembling legs this way.

                “Dugan, give me his shoe laces,” Falsworth ordered, “and hand me that linen, Dernier. I’ll need it to catch the baby.” Dugan was quick about pulling the laces off Bucky’s shoes, and Dernier handed him the linen cloth bandage. “Good! Now, Dernier, I might need you to help me turn the baby while Barnes pushes,” he told the Frenchman. Jacques nodded and Falsworth turned his attention back to the very pale and tired Bucky. “I know you’re tired, Bucky, but I need you to give me one last hard push. This is the most important one: we have to get the shoulders out. From there it’s all downhill, easy work.” Bucky can barely muster the energy to nod.

Falsworth is worried just as much as Steve.  Falsworth has a wife back home and their first child’s birth was very similar to this. She was so tired and worn from the delivery that she very nearly died. Bucky is pale and shaking from head to toe from exertion, and his eyes are glassy. He is barely conscious, and Falsworth is worried that any more stress might over work his heart and cause it to just stop. Bucky tensed again as the contraction built, and Falsworth saw that the time was now.

                “PUSH, Sergeant!” he ordered, and Bucky bore down again. The baby turned and slipped a little more into the world. “You’re almost there, Barnes; just a little more. Jacques, help me turn it. It’s almost out, Barnes; just push!” Bucky stopped and shook his head.

                “I… I … I can’t!” Bucky panted. His legs were quivering from over exertion and his whole body was covered in sweat. He was on the verge of another black out, and didn’t have much more strength left to give.

                “Yes, you can, Bucky,” Steve said to try and rally Bucky’s spirit. “You can! I’ve seen you take on a gang of five bullies twice your size and win. I know you can do this! Don’t quit just yet; not when it’s almost over. Just give us one more push.” Bucky looked over at Steve with a broken look, his eyes wet with tears. Steve gripped his hand tighter and gave his back a comforting rub.

                “One more?” he asked, with exhaustion.

                “Just one more.” Steve answered.

                “Okay,” Bucky whispered back. Bucky took a set of deep breaths and dug down deep inside his core for just a little more strength, before he checked his grip and at last bore down. His head bowed to his chest and his mouth was set in a thin line as he focused all his energy on getting the baby out. Soon his teeth appeared in a closed mouth snarl and a sound started to come out of his throat. It started as a long low growl, and then it became a groan; then it rose into whine; then Bucky’s mouth opened as it rose in volume and strength into a scream. The baby shifted and turned again as the first shoulder finally slipped free.

                “That’s it, Barnes,” Falsworth cheered him on, cradling the baby’s neck and head. “Push! Just a little bit more!” Steve grinned and watched in awe as the baby slowly slipped free. The second shoulder slipped out, and just as quickly as it slipped passed the opening, Bucky fainted.

                “BUCKY!” Steve shouted and clutched his friend’s limp form. There were tears running down Bucky’s face, and the dark smudges had turned into black bruises. Bucky had reached the end of his strength and could give no more. “Falsworth, I don’t think he’s wakin’ up again anytime soon.” Falsworth nodded and with Dernier’s help, he pulled the baby free.

                “Got it!” he said triumphantly, and grinned. He took a quick look over the baby and found his eyebrows near his hair line in pleasant surprise. “It’s a boy!”

Worry graced the faces of the remaining commandoes, when the baby didn’t show any signs of life. Dugan’s normally jovial face had turned somber and sad. He took off his bowler hat and found that he had tears in his eyes. Jacques and Falsworth felt their eyes welling up with tears, as they gently rubbed the baby’s chest. Jones was about to shut off the camera out of respect, when there came a little sound from the bundle in Falsworth’s hands: it was a squeak, then a cough and a small whimper. It wasn’t a lusty cry or wail, but to the men it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Steve grinned from ear to ear, and felt tears of joy running down his face. Dugan was grinning like a loon and starting to laugh. Each one of the commandoes expressed their joy over the first sign of life from the little baby, but it was Bucky’s reaction that got each of their attentions: he had begun to cry. Bucky had indeed passed out, but the feeling of something leaving his body had stirred his mind slowly back to consciousness. The first sound he heard, when he woke, was that little squeak and then the whimper of his newborn baby. It was all too much for him, and he finally broke down and began to sob.

Falsworth smiled as he carefully wrapped the baby with the linens, and then added the wool to keep it warm. With a gentle smile, he placed the baby on Bucky’s chest.

                “Bucky,” he said warmly, “it’s a boy. Congratulations. You have a son.”

Steve and Morita shifted Bucky into a more comfortable position, and Steve leaned in close to watch Bucky carefully wrap his arms around the little bundle. Bucky smiled and cried, and through these tears he gazed down at his baby boy. He was perfect. He was just the way he had imagined his child with Arion would be. He even had little pointed ears.

                “My son,” he said in awe and joy. “My little Stevie.”

                “Stevie?” Steve asked cautiously and happily. “His name is Stevie?” Bucky nodded but never took his eyes off his son.

                “Steven Grant Buchanan Barnes,” He declared and Steve beamed with joyful pride, honored beyond words at Bucky’s name of choice. Falsworth smiled a watery smile and took the shoe laces from Dugan. With care and precision, he tied off the umbilical cord with the laces and cut it. Bucky continued to smile tiredly down at his baby. Never before had he felt such love and joy for another living being, and now he felt an all-consuming love for his baby boy, such as he had never felt in his life. Not even his love for his sisters compared to this.

Steve was grinning from ear to ear with his full-body smile, as he looked upon his namesake. The baby looked every bit Bucky’s son, so much so that Steve couldn’t tell who the father could have been. But Bucky knew. He could see the faintest of traces of Arion in their son’s face, and it wasn’t just the ears. Steven had a more refined look to his baby face. His nose looked cuter and straighter than Bucky’s, more like Arion’s, and his face was less round shaped than Bucky’s; more oval. But Steven was just a newborn and his features would only show up after he matured and lost his baby fat.

Bucky hissed as his belly contracted again, and he pushed lightly in short bursts, until he felt the soft, warm mass of the afterbirth leave him. Bucky sighed and smiled. He let his head fall back to lay on Steve’s broad shoulder, and rest. Morita smiled bright and wide, while looking at the baby. He felt proud that he could be witness to Bucky giving birth and little Steven taking his first breath. The whole team admired the baby for a moment, but the moment is broken with the sound of a branch or twig snapping under the tread of a boot.

Steve and the others heads go up and on full alert. Falsworth is dealing with the afterbirth and dropped it into the rest of the linens, before he turned toward the canvas opening on the back. Bucky tensed, but hissed in pain, before he dropped back into Steve’s arms. The cold air blew into the back and the others were tensed in anticipation. Before they could even move to grab their weapons, the canvas was thrown back and several gray clad figures appeared in the opening. They have the look of hunters and are wearing gray cloaks over elven clothing; and they are armed, to the teeth. They have elvish re-curved long bows and swords attached to their sides, hanging from their belts. They have six archers pointing their arrows at them, and if the legends are true, they won’t miss.

Bucky shrank back from view and clutched his baby Steven closer to his breast. The leader of the group of elves looked over all of them with sharp eyes. His hair is as pale as summer wheat and his eyes piercing blue. The elves looked at them with cold distain, their bows taut and ready to kill them all at a moment’s notice, without hesitation. Finally the leader’s eyes fell on Bucky and his half naked form. Falsworth had managed to cover him with a blanket, but it was obvious that Bucky had no pants on or undergarments. The elf’s eyebrow arched and Bucky felt strangely naked under his gaze. The tight tension only grew, when the elf finally spoke.

                “It has been some time since I have seen Men dare to break our borders,” he said with cool distain. “I do not relish the thought of having to remind your people why we have remained neutral in this conflict. We do not have dealings with Men, nor do we want to. Your kin are greatly diminished and fallen in comparison to the Men of the Elder days. Even the Men of Numenor would not fall so low.” Steve tensed and Bucky grabbed his arm to keep him from fighting. The movement must have jostled little Steven, because he squeaked in objection to being moved. The elf’s eyes snapped over to Bucky, who’d paled and clutched his baby all the more closely. Little Steven objected to the rough treatment and began to whimper and whine. A full blown meltdown was imminent, and as tense as the atmosphere was, Bucky didn’t want his baby to cry.

                “Oh, no, no, no, Baby,” he whispered and pulled away the swaddling to let the baby’s hands reach out. Steven’s tiny hand grabbed onto Bucky’s offered finger, and Bucky began to shush him and rock him to calm him down. “Shh, it’s okay. It okay; Ada’s here. Ada’s here. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Ada’s right here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

During this exchange, the elf gazed at him in wide-eyed wonder, and awe. A tender smile replaced the cold detachment and he motioned his men to lower their bows.

The Commandoes let go of a collectively held breath, when the arrows no longer pointed at their heads. Steve relaxed and looked back at the little baby, squirming and wriggling in his blankets. The baby had finally opened his eyes and Steve saw a pair of gorgeous blue eyes gazing up at both Steve, and his Ada, Bucky. The elf climbed into the truck and knelt down beside Bucky.

                “Forgive me for my mistake,” he said, “I did not know. I am sorry.” The elf’s head hung in shame for a moment. When he looked up, his gaze went straight to little Stevie. “It is a beautiful child.” His brows scrunched up in confusion and worry. “This child is newborn! Where is its mother?” Bucky held back a snort and smirked.

                “You’re lookin’ at him, pointy ears,” he said with a proud grin. The elf’s eyes widened in shock and then he took stock of the surroundings; finally noting the discarded pants and cut undergarments and the fact that Bucky was the only one barefoot. The elf pulled aside a piece of the linen and saw the afterbirth; still steaming in the cold air. With a questioning gesture, he asked to lift the blanket. “Sure. Go ahead; everyone else has seen my privet parts today.” Ignoring the sarcastic statement the elf lifted the blanket and saw the still leaking orifice; red and raw from birth. The blanket dropped and shocked eyes met Bucky’s.

                “I am sorry for assuming,” he said. “And again forgive my rudeness. My name is Haldir, and those two there,” he said and pointed to the two elves closest to the tailgate, “are my brothers: Rumil and Orophin. You will need medical attention, friend. My men can take you all up to the fortress of the Lord and Lady. We have a good healer that can help you and you can find rest there. Again, forgive my prejudice. These are dark days, and dark times. We are all extra vigilant, when we see Men coming and going from the valley floor. There is great evil in that camp, and we are being as cautious as we can to ensure it doesn’t spread.” Haldir turned to his brothers and calls for them to bring a litter.

Bucky hissed and gasped in pain as the Commandoes and the elves gently lifted him from the truck box and onto the litter. Steve gave Bucky’s arm and encouraging pat, before he explained their situation to the elf Haldir. Falsworth stayed at Bucky’s side and monitored his physical state, while Steve talked with Haldir. The rest of the Commandoes started packing their equipment into bags they could carry. Jones finally turned off the camera and stowed it away in its case; removing the now very full film to its own case for later development.

Haldir listened to Steve’s intelligence report and nodded with the occasional frown, before he finally agreed to take them all up to see the Lord and Lady. Steve made the argument that they all needed to retreat to regroup and re-strategize, and Haldir agreed with him.

                “It is a long trek up the side of the Valley, but I am sure that you will be allowed to contact your superiors, once there,” Haldir said and Morita breathed a sigh of relief.

Once the group had all their equipment ready and packed, they followed the troop of elves up a hidden path up the side of the Valley towards the mysterious fortress and hopefully medical help. Haldir didn’t lie when he said it was a long trek; the sun had raised to high noon before the team finally set eyes on the Fortress. The group stopped and gawked at the sight before them. It was the first time Steve had ever set eyes on an elven structure in his life, and it would not be the last.

 The buildings consisted of naturalistic shapes in domes and arches, with long sweeping curves and elegant lines. A great waterfall protected the fortress on one side and the other was protected by a great wall. What didn’t look like a small house or building for family and community use, was a tall spire or tower soaring over the heights of the wall. Bridges or arched aqueducts ran the length of the river and only single lane bridges crossed the waterfall. The main house looked like something out of one of the stories Steve’s mother told him as a child, all grace and beauty; it’s crisscrossing arches creating a lattice that was so delicate looking but very strong.

Haldir noticed the Commandoes’ awe and smirked proudly at the beauty of the city. Even in winter the fortress was filled with life. The birds were singing and some deer could be seen grazing in small meadows near the falls. Awe couldn’t even come close to describing the wonder on the men’s faces as they gazed on the city.

                “Welcome, my lords,” Haldir said with pride, “to the valley of Imladris. In the common tongue it is known by a better name.” Steve’s wonder and awe increased tenfold once he realized he was gazing on a replica of a city he had only heard of in stories from his mother.

                “Rivendell,” he said softly and with reverence.

                “Here lays the Last Homely House east of the Sea,” Haldir informed them. “This is only a small fortress that we build to protect this region for the traveling elves. The true hidden valley on his world is across the sea. My brothers and I call this place for our old home. Caras Galadhon, it is a heart of elvendom on Earth. The home of our Lady Emily and of Lord Avery Elfstar: the Silmaril.” Steve and Bucky feel their jaws drop open in shock and are lead down to the great gates of the city in a daze.

The fortress is even more beautiful from within as it was from afar. The sound of singing and harp music full the walls of the city and create an atmosphere of peace and tranquility. But make no mistake, Steve knew that this was a fortress and each person he saw could possibly take him on in a fight and win. They pass many March wardens on their way to the main house and the Keep. These are soldiers that are trained in stealth and are not to be underestimated. Steve had seen more than one knife on one of the Wardens that caught the Commandoes with their pants down; literally in some cases.

Once they reach the Keep, Steve and the Commandoes are led into the Healing halls, where Bucky is placed on a soft bed. Haldir informs Steve that the Healer is a good physician that will care for Bucky’s recovery and wellbeing. Haldir leaves them to rest and to have the Lord and Lady informed of their new guest. Morita takes this opportunity to take out his radio and finally report into HQ.

After a few minutes, Steve went to set down by Bucky to wait. Bucky had nodded off after they sat him on the bed, but woke easily to the sound of Steve setting down in the chair. A small smile graced his face and he looked down at his son, still snuggled up at his chest but sleeping now. Steve looked at the two of them and still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Bucky is a father, and that he just gave birth to a baby, right before his very eyes. Steve is just about to open his mouth and ask Bucky a question, when Haldir returns.

Trailing behind him are two people, a man and woman, of tall stature and noble bearing. The woman is simply a woman; nothing special about her, save for her abnormally bright eyes. Her hair is a muddy dark gold that is pin straight and bound away from his face in braids. Her figure is very curvy and her height is above average for a woman. She has a kind face with blue eyes, and a warm smile. Her dress is a fine dark red with blue and gold accents. It is elvish in design and craft, with large open bell sleeves that open up above her elbows and fall to just above her ankles. About the only thing that doesn’t fit with her being a human bride to an elf, is the silver cross around her neck. Steve smiled kindly at her and turned his attention to the man at her side.

The Elf is the one that garners his attention and scrutiny. He is as tall as Steve, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He is thin at the waist and has long legs that are strong under the soft trousers. His arms are well muscled and strong, and his hands long fingered, but calloused from rough work. His hair is gold with rich highlights and depth to the color, but there is a streak of black at his right temple: a single, large lock of raven black amongst the gold. His face is long, with a square jaw and chin, and defined cheek bones. Steve looked at him and was reminded of a Colonel in the British army he saw while on the USO tour, and thought that this elf could have been his golden twin.

His clothes were very elvish, with a long tunic and tall boots over trousers. His forearms were bound with vambraces that bound the large open bells of his sleeves back. Over the tunic, he wore a jerkin vest that cinched at his waist and fell to just above the hem of the tunic. The tunic had a high collar that wrapped around his throat. Over the collar was a jeweled pendent on a silver chain. It fell to rest over the top of his breastbone and shimmered silver and white with golden hues in the light of the room.

Of all of his features, his eyes are what gave Steve pause: they are a pair of dark dusk blue eyes that are paler at the pupil and darken to an almost black sapphire at the edges. And they shine; with a light far brighter than any of the other elves Steve saw, when they brought them into the city. The light within them are a swirling mix of silver and gold light that give his eyes an unearthly gaze. Steve gulped down nervously, when he realized that the elf standing before him was none other than Avery Elfstar; known as the Silmaril by some of the Eldar and Numenoreans: one of the most powerful beings known to exist amongst the Eldar.

Steve bowed his head in respect and the other commandoes followed his lead, save for Bucky. Bucky inclined his head but remained lying down. Avery’s eyes set upon Bucky and bore into his eyes with a piercing gaze. Avery’s whole being had the same glow as most elves, but more intense and hallowed; almost as if the light within him was hallowed. Bucky broke his gaze and looked down at his son. Avery smiled softly, before he turned his gaze upon Steve and the others.

                “Welcome to Rivendell, Captain Rogers,” he said, and his voice was rich and deep, like the sound of an instrument being played. His voice was baritone, with a musical quality to it that Steve had only imagined from the brief encounter Steve had with only elf he had met thus far. It was deep and smooth, with only the slightest hints of gravel; as if from an old injury. His accent was almost English, with softened ‘r’s and precise annunciation. Never had Steve felt more nervous, to be in the presence of another person, in his life. Avery turned his gaze to Steve again with a warm smile.

 “You need not be afraid, Captain.” He said, “You and your men are quite safe, within these borders. The matter of the base within the valley has been known to us for some time, and it is now that we have chosen to strike. You and your men have come at a most fortuitous time. Contact your superiors, and inform them that they are to come here.” He ordered. Avery gestured Haldir to step forward and the Warden handed Steve a piece of parchment with instructions on it. “Those are our exact coordinates. I would have council with your commanders, so that we might pool our resources and strike this evil from our valley, once and for all!”

Steve nodded and handed the notes to Morita. Morita immediately got on the radio and called into Base.

                “The Healer will be here shortly to examine your friend, and the child, to ensure their good health,” the Woman said with a smile. “He is a very good physician, and might be able to shed some light on a few things. He also happens to be our grandson, and I trust him with my life.”

Steve felt his eyes widen, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to be the one to ask her age; he knew better than to ask that. If there was one thing his mother taught him, it was to never ask a lady her age.

                “Base says they want to come here, and reassess the Intel we have, and coordinate a dual strike with our Commandoes and the elves,” Morita said. He paused and looked at Steve with trepidation. “What should I tell them about Barnes?” Steve looked over at Bucky and smiled sadly.

                “Inform base that Bucky is out of commission for the remainder of the mission, and will need medical attention from our doctors. Tell Philips that Bucky just had a baby, and to save the questions until after we are face to face,” Steve said, and Morita relayed the message.

Steve felt his shoulders sag with a heavy weight for a moment, before he squared them and prepared himself to defend Bucky’s place in his unit and in the army with his life. If they wanted Bucky gone, it would be over his cold dead body.

~**~*~*

End chapter TBC…

 

 


	7. Facing the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like is says on the can, Bucky and Steve face the music and Bucky has some explaining to do!  
> OC's coming up. and more crossover action.  
> all will be explained later.

It took over two hours for base command to arrive at the fortress, and Steve was right there at the gate to welcome them. Col. Philips had a slightly more irritated scowl on his face than normal, so Steve knew he was in for a hell of an uphill battle. He saluted the man and introduced their temporary host.

                “Colonel, sir,” he said, “This is Lord Avery Elfstar, the lord of this estate and fortress. He has been generous enough to lend us the majority of his house to set up base.” Col. Philips took the Elf’s hand and shook it.

                “Welcome, Col. Philips,” Avery said, his face not leaving the pleasant and knowing expression behind, “to the Valley of Imladris. My halls are welcome to you and your men. My captain of the March Wardens will escort you and your men to your quarters and where you will be allowed to set up your equipment.” Haldir stepped forward with a bland smile and gestured the men in the trucks full of equipment to follow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to before we make council in the war room.” With that, Avery turned and walked towards the forges where his private workshop was kept.

Steve smiled nervously and steeled himself for the onslaught, before he led the SSR commanders to the house. Not a word was said in the group. Even Stark was strangely silent as Steve led them into the large hall that was now bustling with activity. The mobile command unit turned the large dining hall into command center, and Steve led Philips and Peggy into the more secluded study to talk. Once the doors were closed, Steve turned around and found Philips gaze hard.

                “You have got just ten seconds to explain to me why you canceled that ground assault on account of your buddy,” he said. “And I want a better explanation than what Private Morita gave me over the horn.” Steve swallowed hard and began. By the end of it Stark’s eyebrows were up high on his forehead, and Agent Carter’s eyes were wide with shock.

                “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth,” he said to try and convince them. Philips looked unimpressed and Steve sighed with a grimace as he ran his hand through his still damp hair. “Bucky’s in the Healing Halls, if you want to see it for yourselves, but I ain’t lyin’! Buck had a baby out there and it nearly killed him. We called off the mission and were on our way back, when the truck broke down. For God’s sakes, Falsworth had to deliver the baby in the back of the truck! If you want proof, go ask him. Or, better yet, get that video film developed, and see for yourselves; I am not lying!” Philips glared at Steve for a moment with tight lips, before he turned to Stark and nodded at him to go. Stark fled the scene posthaste to get the film from Jones.

                “You do realize, Captain Rogers, that if you are right and the doctors confirm this, you might lose your buddy to a Blue slip,” Philips said a bit sadly. Steve’s shoulders sagged, but he squared them and tightened his jaw.

                “If they want him gone, they’ll have to slip me too,” he said with hard eyes, “’cause I ain’t leavin’ my best friend to the wolves again. _SIR_! I need Bucky! He is the best sniper we have got, and I trust him with my life. I think Schmidt is more dangerous than this is, to the Army, right now, and I don’t need a special degree to tell you that. We can’t afford to be picky, when it comes to HYDRA. We need the best of the best, and right now, Bucky’s it.” Steve’s eyes were hard and his voice cold, as he spoke; fully expecting to have to put up a fight to keep Bucky in the army and at his side. He was pleasantly surprised, when the sharp line of disapproval fell from Col. Philips’ shoulders and the fight went out of the man.

                “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said. Steve blinked in shock, and looked at Peggy. He found a smug smirk on her face, and couldn’t help but return it. “I was hopin’ that you would pitch a fit like this, it gives me all the more reason to keep this little incident to ourselves.” Steve felt his jaw drop before the Col. gave him a sharp glare. Steve straightened his features and nodded. “Now, if you are done here, Captain, please lead the way to the infirmary. I want to have a look at Barnes myself.”

Steve swallowed down his apprehension, and led the way to Bucky. The Army docs were already there, Steve realized, by the sound of someone’s shouting. Steve led the way, but bent his hearing to find out what was going on.

                “I don’t _care_ if he _is_ an Army Sergeant,” a man’s voice in a full shout drifted to his ears, “he was admitted to _my care_ , and he is _my_ patient! So you can take your army regs and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine. Now, **_get out of my infirmary_**!” Steve and Col. Philips arrived at the door just in time to see the same Army doc that had treated Bucky before, get booted out of the Healing Halls. The man stumbled and had to grab the floor before he gathered his wits and fled. Steve, Peggy and Col. Philips stared down the hall way in shock at the fleeing doctor, before they all looked back to the open doors to find a very irate looking man glaring down the doctor’s assistants and Nurses.

The man was as tall as Steve, with ebony black hair and not a hint of scruff on his face. His hair was wavy and long, and tied back with intricate braids; showing off the points of his ears and putting his face into stark relief. He had sharp, angular features, with wide cheekbones set on an oval shaped face. His lips were drawn thin from his anger, but his mouth was wide set. His nose was long and straight with a slight upturn at the tip. His square chin, deep-set blue eyes and strong brow painted the picture of a classically handsome man. His anger made his nostrils flare and his eyes flash, and Steve could see his jaw grinding as he clenched his teeth behind closed lips. In short, the man looked angered personally by the mere presence of that doctor, and partially insulted. And if he was anything like his grandfather under his loose fitting clothes, he very well might have killed that doctor, rather than just yelling and shouting him out of the infirmary.

Steve stepped forward and cleared his throat politely. The man’s face snapped over to Steve and Steve was pinned under the full force of his scrutiny. Steve restrained the urge to squirm under the man’s gaze, until the elf sighed and his face softened.

                “Yes,” he said to Steve, revealing a slightly graveled tenor voice that was pleasant to hear; when it was not being shouted at you. “What do you want?” Steve squared his shoulders and held out his hand in greeting.

                “I’m Captain Steve Rogers, sir,” he said, “of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. This is my commanding officer Col. Chester Philips, and my colleague Agent Margaret Carter.” The elf smiled wryly and shook Steve’s hand.

                “It’s nice to know some of you bullheaded Army men know how to be polite,” he said back and Steve grinned. “I’m Fingon Elfstar; Lord Avery’s grandson. I also happen to be the chief physician here, and the only one best suited to deal with your Sergeant; without making him feel like he is in trouble.” Fingon’s sharp smile was all teeth and false politeness. Steve smiled pleasantly and tried to sooth the doctor’s irritation.

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Steve said. Steve looked around at the assistants and nurses before a more hopeful smile graced his face. “I hope you aren’t going to kick us all out, doc. We still need to get to the bottom of what happened, and I am sure you could use some assistants.” Fingon raised his eyebrow and smirked. His face softened and he smiled.

                “Where on earth did they find you, Captain?” he asked, grinning, “Washington; because you certainly have the silver tongue of one of those types.” Steve grinned further, and pulled his head up high.

                “No, Sir,” Steve said, “Brooklyn.”

                “Brooklyn!?” Fingon asked incredulously. Steve grinned and Fingon barked out a laugh. “Well, you sure are full of surprises, aren’t you, Captain?” Steve shrugged sheepishly and ducked his head to hide his reddening face.

                “Doctor, we are here to debrief Sergeant Barnes, and possibly get that baby looked at,” Philips said, “so if we could just skip over the niceties, and go see Barnes, I think we all might agree with that.” Fingon’s face closed off in slight irritation at being ordered but the kind look returned as he gestured them to follow.

                “Might as well have your doctor’s assistants and nurses help me,” he said as he reached the door. “But I want this made perfectly clear: Sergeant Barnes and that baby are my patients, and I will not have anyone bullying them while so soon after the birth. You are to be quiet, and respectful, and are not to upset them. If you do, Col, I have the authority to kick you out just like your doctor. Is that understood?” Steve nodded, and Peggy followed suit.

                “Crystal,” Col Philips said.

                “Good,” Fingon said and carefully opened the doors.

~~*~*

* * *

 

Bucky had been reclining in the bed they had given him, resting his tired body, when little Steven woke up and demanded attention with the start of cry. Bucky snapped awake with a start and looked down at his baby, who was fussing and grasping at his jacket. Bucky smiled tenderly at his son, and ran a finger lightly over the baby’s cheek. Little Steven’s mouth opened and his face scrunched up in frustration. It took Bucky a second to realize that his baby wanted food, and not knowing what else to do, he stripped his jacket off.  He pulled the jacket from his chest and off his shoulders, before his set the crying baby on his raised knees. He quickly stripped off his under shirt and pulled the baby back to his now bare chest.

                “Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” he said softly as he rocked the baby. “It’s okay. I’m right here, sweetie. I’m right here. Hush.” Little Steven continued to whimper and whine, before he opened his mouth and began to cry. The small, but quickly growing, wails, brought tears of pain to Bucky’s eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Bucky acted on instinct and brought the baby up to latch onto a breast. Almost as soon as Steven felt the warmth on his cheek, he turned and latched his mouth around Bucky’s left nipple.

Bucky let out a small, startled sound, which he would deny to his dying day, was a squeak, when he felt the steady suction and wet warmth of the baby’s mouth on his breast. He looked down at Steven and saw him nursing contentedly on his breast. There was a slight milky look to the spit around the baby’s mouth and Bucky felt a spark of shock that he was producing milk, and actually nursing his baby. He had never produced milk from the other pregnancies; there was tightness to his chest for a few weeks after he gave birth, but no milk. Bucky looked down at his chest and noticed the difference from before, and could have kicked himself for not noticing the signs: the swelling of his pectorals and the darkening of the areola around the nipples, the definition of his abs receding, and of course the light fluttering he had felt the month before. Bucky looked at his baby and felt a soft and loving smile stretch over his lips. The baby was making little grunting sounds and sucking steadily on his breast, his fingers softly grasping at the softened pectorals and massaging the milk out of him.

Bucky settled down again on the pillows and absorbed himself in watching his baby nurse. After a moment he felt the room’s slight chill, blazing fire or not in the hearth, and pulled his jacket over his shoulders and threaded his arms back through the sleeves. Once done, he simply lay there contented, watching his baby. He felt his exhaustion but dared not drift to sleep, wanting to watch his baby for a little longer. Soon he felt his eyes drooping, as the strain of the day taking hold and pulling him towards rest. Through his half sleep, he could hear raised voices outside his room and wondered if Steve would be back to put the baby in the cradle by his bed. For a second he thought he heard Steve’s voice, but he was far too tired to care. Bucky’s eyes drifted shut and he drifted off into a light sleep.

~~***~*~*~*

* * *

 

Steve and Fingon stopped after passing the door’s threshold, and gazed at the sight before them. Philips and Peggy moved around them, but also stopped, when they Saw Bucky. Bucky was passed out on the bed, with little baby Steven latched onto his bare breast. There were black and purple smudges under his eyes and a deep gauntness to his face, which spoke of a complete drain of all energy reserves. He was pale and nearly lifeless on the bed save for the arm wrapped around his baby, and the soft rise and fall of his chest and belly as he breathed.

Fingon looked over at Steve with a scathing glare and then turned his fierce gaze on Peggy and the Col. Col. Philips pursed his lips and ignored the Elf’s glaring and Peggy did the same. Fingon let out an undignified snort, before he went over to Bucky’s side to wake him.

                “Ungrateful Army Men,” he grumbled under his breath. “They’ve got no respect for life and mental health.” Steve rolled his eyes upwards to ignore that statement and went to Bucky’s side.

                “Doc,” Steve said, “Bucky doesn’t take to well to bein’ woke by many people lately but by me and the fellas, so I think it might be best if I wake him.” Fingon glanced at Steve and then to the baby held carefully in Bucky’s arms to his breast, before he nodded. Steve gently grasped Bucky’s shoulder and gave it a light shake. “Hey, Buck.” He whispered, “Bucky, come on; wake up.” Bucky stirred softly and his breathing became deeper and less even. He groaned lightly and opened bloodshot blue eyes.

The eyes glared at him for disturbing his rest, before Bucky’s blurry gaze drifted over to Fingon. Fingon smiled softly at Bucky’s tired confusion and placated him by placing his hand on his shoulder and easing him back down to the gentle reclining position.

                “Steady, Sergeant,” he said softly, “I think it might be best if you just rest an hour and gather your strength, before we have a look at you. But I first need to measure and weigh the baby for the record; my I,” he asked and gestured to the baby that was now contently nuzzling Bucky’s breast. Bucky tiredly nodded and handed the baby to Fingon.

Fingon all but cooed at the little baby and brought him to his shoulder. A few gentle pats to the back and rubs, and the baby burped and sighed. Fingon smiled and moved to the scale placed in the room. He gently placed the baby on the soft padding, bare of all cloth covering, and weighed him.

                “Was it a difficult birth, Captain,” he asked a moment later. Steve started and blushed for not paying attention.

                “He fainted at least three times before the baby was out,” Steve answered. Fingon hummed an agreeing tone as he measured the baby.

                “Three times?” Peggy asked and Steve nodded.

                “Yeah,” he said, “we had to use the smelling salts twice; once, when the head crowned, and the second time, when it came out. Bucky passed out the third time, when the shoulders passed.” Steve looked back at his friend’s tired but smiling face. Bucky may have looked like death but he was happy. “He screamed like we were guttin’ him,” he said and Fingon whistled. Philips eyes were wide and shocked and Peggy looked sympathetic.

                “Well it’s no wonder you screamed like you did, Sergeant,” he said as he wrapped the baby back in his blanket, with a diaper underneath, this time. Fingon lifted him into his arms and gently went back to Bucky and placed little Steven back in Bucky’s embrace. “Your little Steven weighs 8lbs 3oz, and is just over 22in long.” Bucky and Steve’s eyes widened, and Bucky’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Yes, 8lbs. You had a very big baby, Bucky. It’s a miracle you didn’t tear, but you are a resilient one, and so is your baby. Congratulations, Serge.”

Bucky smiled at his baby before the two of them, both Ada and Son, yawned big and wide. Steve laughed and Fingon gently lifted the baby out of Bucky’s tired arms, to place him in the cradle. The doctor glared at the Agent and Col, making it clear that they were to leave and let Bucky rest. Before he could turn his glare on Steve, he found the man lying on the bed next to Bucky’s and already fast asleep. Fingon shook his head and left Steve and Bucky to rest for an hour, so they could recover their lost strength.

~~~*~*~*~*

* * *

 

Steve woke to a hushed argument between Bucky and the doctor. He was slow to wake, but he slowly stretched and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Bucky was sitting upright in bed and was cradling the baby very closely to his chest. Steve gave him a dopy smile and yawned off the last of his sleep. Once he finally was awake enough, he noticed Bucky’s distress. Bucky’s lips were pulled tight and thin and a little crease had appeared between his brows and on his forehead. His eyes were red from repressed tears and his face pale.

Steve sat up straight and looked worriedly to Fingon. Fingon looked strangely aged and weary. His face was paler and his eyes filled with a sorrow that brought years of age to his youthful face. His face was sympathetic and sad all at once, and Steve knew that something was wrong. Steve slid his legs off the bed and moved to sit in the lone chair. He gently reached out and touched Bucky’s arm to get his attention. Steve’s concerned and curious gaze met Bucky’s look of complete despair and agony.

                “Buck,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?” Bucky let out a hysterical giggle, before he managed to clamp down on the sob that came out at the end. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried not to fall apart and cry.

                “What’s wrong,” he said, and a tear finally escaped his eye, “is that my baby won’t live to see his first birthday.” Bucky rubbed the tears that had escaped from his face and looked down at his sleeping baby with love and despair. “I don’t want to lose him. I love him so much!” Steve turned his shocked gaze to Fingon, and found exasperation and weariness instead of sorrow.

                “Doc,” Steve asked, “what’s goin’ on? What does he mean?” Fingon let out a heavy sigh before he pulled a chair up to sit down beside the bed. For a moment he looked as if he were gathering his thoughts before he looked back at Bucky with determination and affection.

                “James,” he said slowly and carefully, “I didn’t say that Steven was going to die.” He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment as he tried to find a way to explain what was happening without a lot of complicated words. “Steven is showing signs of unusual, accelerated growth. Just in the few hours since his birth, he has shown signs of development that should be months away. I don’t know what caused this, but it might have something to do with what happened to you, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky got a shifty look on his face and Steve knew that there was something that his friend was keeping from him.

                “Bucky,” he said slowly, “does this have anything to do with what happened in the back room?” Steve watched Bucky’s face closely, so he saw the flash of fear and the shamefaced look that flashed over it before it was replaced with a look of defiance. Steve deflated and looked at Bucky with tired and worried eyes. “Buck, I don’t care what happened, but if something happened to Steven because of what those nuts did, you have to tell me.” Bucky dropped his gaze to little baby Steven, and worried his lip. For a long moment he said nothing and Steve waited patiently for him to answer. Finally Bucky’s shoulders drooped and he let out a shuddering breath.

                “The doc, Dr. Zola,” he started hoarsely, and took a deep breath to steel himself, “he stuck me full of needles, and shot me up full of some shit that was blue and all glowing, you know. He kept asking me how I felt, but I didn’t answer him. The stuff burned like fire in my veins, and he stuck me everywhere; including in the belly. Those shots hurt worse than anything. I thought I was gonna die!” Big, fat tears ran down the length of his face as he spoke, but the tense line of his shoulders eased; as if a great weight was being lifted with every word confessed. “I knew,” he said softly. Steve waited for him to continue, but Bucky remained silent, unable to fully confess without being asked first.

                “Knew what, Buck,” Steve asked and slowly eased Bucky to look at him. Bucky gave him a heartbroken smile, filled with insecurity and fear, as silent tears ran down his face.

                “I knew that I might have been pregnant,” he confessed and braced himself for the anger and berating that never came. Steve stared at his friend in wide-eyed shock, before he found his voice again.

                “You knew that you were having a baby?” he asked, and Bucky nodded, forcing himself to look at Steve or else lose his nerve. “Why didn’t you say anything? Warn us that this was gonna happen? Bucky, why… why didn’t you tell me?” Steve felt hurt by Bucky’s lack of trust and it showed on his face like an open book. Bucky swallowed back more tears and sniffled.

                “I was scared, I guess,” he said quietly. “I thought I’d lost it, because of the … stuff. I wasn’t even that far along. Steve, he shouldn’t be this healthy. I couldn’t have been more than four months. I wasn’t even term, Steve. I was expecting to lose him.” Steve’s eyes widened in shock as Bucky’s confession sank in and he looked over to find the equally shocked gaze of Fingon meet his own.

                “Bucky,” Steve said carefully, “do you mean that you conceived in the factory, at the camp?” Bucky nodded and Steve felt his shoulders drop in disbelief. “Who’s the father, Buck? It had to be someone you met there. Was he another prisoner… did he die?” Bucky started to laugh hysterically and giggle. “Bucky!” Bucky looked up at his friend sharply with fear. “Who is Steven’s father?”

                “His name is Arion,” Bucky said calmly. “I met him the first day there. I guess you could say he was a prisoner, just not in the way we all were.” He paused and gathered his nerve before he continued. “He went by Adrian Shaw when I first met him… he’s a lieutenant in the SS.” Steve stared at his friend in shock, and a little bit of anger. “Before you say anything, Steve, he wasn’t like that. He was nice. He liked me. Steve, he’s a deep cover agent for the SIS, working inside the inner circle.”

                “SIS,” Steve said dumbfounded, “British Intelligence?! MI6! Bucky, you slept with a SPY!?” Bucky sheepishly shrugged, and chuckled nervously.

                “In my defense, I didn’t know he was a spy, at the time,” Bucky said and instantly regretted it. Steve turned his righteous fury on his best friend and Bucky squirmed under the heated gaze.

                “No, you thought you were just sleeping with the enemy,” he said curtly, “literally!” Bucky smiled shyly and swallowed in shame.

                “No, I didn’t, Steve,” Bucky said. “I thought I was sleeping with someone who was just as much a prisoner as I was. He told me he was forced into the Army, Steve. He didn’t believe any of that Nazi dogma crap. And when he told me the truth, he said he was taken captive by Schmidt. He said he was insane, and needed to be stopped.”

                “Then why not stop him himself,” Steve asked tightly. Bucky gave him a sour look and glared at him.

                “Are you dense, Steve?!” he said shortly, “It would have gotten him killed. Arion is a deep cover agent. Observe only; gather data; that’s his job. If they’d found out, he would have been shot!” Steve had the decency to look shamefaced, and blushed. Bucky glared at his friend and rocked his baby as he started to fuss.

Fingon watched the exchange with amusement, until the name of the father sank in. His shocked face stared at Steve and then Bucky, before he dared to speak.

                “Sergeant, you said that the father’s real name was Arion,” he asked, “are you sure that was what he told you?” Bucky nodded, and Fingon sank back into his chair in complete shock. He knows the name but needs to confer with his Grandfather before jumping to conclusions. He smoothed away the shock and smiled pleasantly at the two friends. “Well, Sergeant Barnes, you are in perfect health for someone who has just given birth less than three hours ago,” he said. Steve and Bucky stopped glaring at each other, and put aside their differing opinions to focus on the doctor’s prognosis. “Whatever it was that you were injected with has affected your son and perhaps you as well. Steven is showing rapid growth, but it appears normal and healthy. I didn’t mean to imply that Steven was going to die, quite the opposite actually. If I am correct as to who the father of your child is, then you will have many years of life to love and care for your son; just not a lot of childhood memories.” Bucky took a long gasping breath and sighed with relief. He looked down at Steven, who had awoken again and was demanding attention.

                “You mean, he’s not gonna die in a month?” Bucky asked. And Fingon shook his head with a kind smile.

                “No,” he said warmly. “I think Steven is going to stop aging after he reaches physical maturity. He might not have a very long childhood, and will be quite the handful, but he is going to be just fine.” Bucky gasped and grinned with tears in his eyes. He looked at Steve and found the anger gone and replaced by love and joy. Bucky laughed and bent to kiss Steven’s forehead. Steven grabbed a lock of his hair and started tugging. Bucky tried to pull away but the child held fast and giggled. Bucky was unable to remove that joy and let him hold it for a moment before he let it go. Fingon smiled at the exchange and picked up the paper he had been working on. “I think my work is not needed here at the time being, but in the meantime, take this,” he said and handed Bucky the piece of paper.

                “What is it?” he asked and looked it over. The document looked official and important, but Bucky didn’t know why.

                “That is your son’s original Birth certificate,” he answered, and Bucky’s and Steve’s eyes went wide. “I suggest that you send that to your parents so that they might at least know the truth. It will be far too risky to send him back to the States, and he is going to need you, Bucky; for a lot more than just a figure of parenthood.” Bucky nodded and looked at Steve in silent askance. Steve deflated and conceded defeat.

                “Okay, Buck,” he said, “he can stay. But we will have to tell at least Philips and Peggy the truth. Stark might as well be told: he’ll just snoop until he finds out on his own. Better to have him in on the know, now, than not and have him blab on accident to the wrong people.” Bucky nodded in agreement, knowing Stark all too well for his snooping. “They might be able to come up with a good story later about Steven’s presence with us, and Steven will be safer close to where we can all keep an eye on him.” Steve smiled and Bucky grinned.

Fingon slipped out of the room and went to talk to Col. Philips and Agent Carter to apprise them of the new situation with little Steven. He spotted his grandfather on the way and caught the knowing smile on his face. Fingon smirked and chuckled to himself. Very little escaped his grandfather’s knowledge, and things like what was happening with Bucky, was things he always seemed to know before they happened. He spotted the Col. in deep conversation with Howard Stark, and steeled his nerves to deal with the grating personality that was Mr. Howard Stark: Genius, Millionaire, and Playboy extraordinaire.  

~*~*~*

* * *

 

It was not even a half hour later that found Col. Philips, Peggy, Howard, and the rest of the commandoes with Steve and Bucky. Bucky looked at his friends for support after he finished telling them what had happened in the factory. A few of them looked disappointed but understanding, and the majority of them were looking shocked, but enlightened. His little story certainly filled in some holes in their knowledge from before. Steve looked sad but otherwise blank, like he was hiding his true feelings on the matter until he was sure of the command’s reaction. Inside he was boiling with worry and fear that he would lose his best friend, and concern over the fate of the newborn child that was growing rapidly. Bucky looked over at the Col, because his reaction would be the only one that would count. Philips looked tired and somehow older than before. His eyes were riveted to the little bundle in Bucky’s arms, as he puzzled over something for a moment. When he gaze finally turned to Bucky, there was resignation, and a little relief. Bucky felt his shoulders ease there tension just a little bit, and a soft smile spread across his lips.

                “Well, Barnes, you sure do know how to put a man in a situation, don’t you,” he asked, and Bucky gave him a one shoulder shrug and a look that said ‘eh, maybe,’ before he grinned down at the giggling baby in his arms. Steven was wide awake and grabbing for Bucky’s tags. Philips huffed out a laugh, when the boy caught them and pulled them into his mouth. Bucky glanced up at him and smiled happily, before his gaze went back to the baby.

                “Oh no, little one,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s not for you.” He gently pried the tag out of Steven’s mouth, and kissed his forehead. There was a collective internal ‘aw’, when the baby giggled again and grabbed Bucky’s hair. Bucky laughed and tried to pull away. “Ow! OW!” he exclaimed, “you really have a grip there, don’t ya?” the baby giggled again and everyone snickered at Bucky’s suffering, as he slowly pulled the pudgy fingers out of his hair. “There,” he crowed slightly in victory, once free. Bucky had a merry twinkle in his eyes, and he let Steven grab his finger and hold onto it in compensation, so he wouldn’t start to cry.

                “Your little bit of ‘trouble’, Barnes,” Philips continued, “is not only here, but is here to stay.” Bucky’s eyes snapped up in shock and widened. Bucky grinned and looked over at the others, who wore similar expressions of joyful shock. “Yeah, I know, but it is from a practical standpoint that you are even staying, Barnes; and don’t you forget it!” Bucky nodded earnestly, and Philips huffed with a small smirk. “Besides, it’s just easier to cover this whole thing up, then try to prove it _and_ keep Barnes watching you back, Captain Rogers.” Steve sagged in relief slightly and smiled softly at Bucky; a hint of triumph in his grin. Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve’s smug ego and smiled down at his baby.

                “So, what are we gonna do, sir,” Jones asked, and all heads turned to him. “I mean, how, exactly, are we going to explain his presence in the camps and with the unit? If he’s growing as fast as the doc here,” he jerked his thumb over at Fingon, “says he is, then we’ll need a solid story, to change as he gets older and more matured.”

                “I agree,” Falsworth spoke up. For a while he was sitting pensively with his hand supporting his head and his pointer finger covering his lips, until he lifted his head up when he spoke. “We’ll need a solid story to tell the press, and later the other troops we come in contact with.” Falsworth stood and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Dugan grinned and nodded in agreement.

                “Yeah,” he said and wagged his finger as he thought it through, “somethin’ easy to fake and believe.” Dugan huffed out a laugh and looked over at Bucky with raised eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have believed this if I hadn’t been there and seen it happen,” he said. “No offence, Buck.” He said as he raised his hands in quiet placation.

                “None taken,” Bucky said back with a sarcastic and sour smile. Falsworth smiled and gestured to Dugan with a look that said ‘see, I’m right’ and settled his hands to set on his hips.

                “You know,” Stark said finally, and all eyes turned on the inventor, “if we spun it later, when he’s older, that he was some civilian on holiday, trapped in Europe, when the War started and had gotten captured at Azzano, people might believe it. And for now we could say he’s some orphan the guys found on a mission. It explains his presence, and where he’s from without givin’ anything away, and it will even explain why the kid is attached to Barnes. We could say it was Bucky who found him, and the kid latched on.” The looks of surprised and pleased admiration had Howard preening like a peacock.

                “For once, Mr. Stark actually has a brilliant idea, “Peggy said and Howard squawked in indignation while the others chortled and laughed at his expense. Bucky giggled and smiled down at his baby sadly. “What is it?” Peggy asked, once she saw the melancholy look.

                “Will he get to keep his name?” he asked, and looked up with hopeful eyes in askance. Steve stood and went to Bucky’s side. He grabbed Bucky’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze in encouragement.  Bucky looked up at his friend and smiled, when he saw Steve’s certainty and confidence.

                “I’m sure he will, Buck,” he said and pulled his hand off Bucky’s shoulder to gently smooth his hand over Steven’s soft skull. The baby smiled up at him and then yawned big and wide, before huddling down and burrowing into the blankets. “Steven Grant Buchanan is still a good name. And it’s his so he should be able to keep it. Right, sir,” he asked and looked over his shoulder with his wide blue eyes, and long dark lashes making him look the picture of innocence and sweet nature. Philips huffed at that thought, and nodded. Steve Rogers was no sweet little angel from the Hallmark cards. The Captain was more like the kind straight out of the Bible: a warrior and bringer of truth in words and deeds; the righteous wrath of God incarnate. “See, Buck: he’ll keep his name.” Bucky smiled gratefully.

                “Thanks, Steve,” he said so softly that only Steve could hear. “I want to send the real Birth Certificate to my family with a letter, so that they, at least, know the truth.” Steve nodded.

                “So we’re all in agreement that this is to be classified so high that not even the President could see the documents regarding the baby, well Steven’s, birth or origins?” Howard asked, and everyone nodded in agreement. “We’ll get the details on everything sketched out later, but for now, I think we’re all good.”

The group relaxed with Philips’ nod and gravitated towards the little family on the bed. Peggy stood up and dragged Howard closer. Planting herself in plain view of the baby, she pulled Howard to a point that he had a good view of the baby, quietly napping in Bucky’s arms. Peggy all but cooed, when she set her eyes on the child and looked up at Steve, who was smiling down besotted at little Steven. Bucky glanced up at the two with just his eyes and not moving his head, before he looked up at Peggy and grinned.

                “Do you wanna hold him?” he asked her and she froze like a deer in headlights, if only for a moment, before she smiled excitedly. She nodded and Bucky gently laid him in her arms. “Mind his head, and support his neck.” Peggy adjusted her hold and the baby slotted right into place at her breast. Steven sighed and burrowed closer to her warmth. Peggy cooed and melted at the sweet sight, gently rocking him and smiling softly. She turned her body and shifted her hold to lift him higher, so that Howard could see.

The Inventor looked at the child with rapt curiosity and a little bit of awe. He took in every detail of the little boy’s appearance and noted the long lashes and bud-like lips. The Commandoes on the other hand were completely in love with the baby boy, and noted even more things about the baby that reminded them of their sergeant. They were all so wrapped in their attention to the baby that they didn’t notice the look of longing and love that shined in Steve’s eyes as he watched Peggy cradle Bucky’s baby in her arms. It was in this moment, which Steve knew he was going to marry that woman, the moment the war was over, and have a family with her. Steve wanted it all: the house, the yard, the dog, and especially the wife and kids. Steve wanted the dream he was denied for so long on his poor health, and sterility, and was now given the chance to have that. The Serum fixed so much, and it gave him a future. Steve was going to use that, once it was over, to have what he always wanted: a family.

Bucky smiled and cooed at Steven, when Peggy placed him back in his arms for a feeding. Bucky unbuttoned his jacket and the baby latched on the moment there was a chance. The sharp inhale and sigh, were all that escaped, when the baby started feeding. His little boy was a miracle that he was not going to waste, and he intended to give his child the best childhood he could possibly give him, despite it being on the battlefield.~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

* * *

 

End chapter TBC…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review if you like. I need some encouragement to keep me going. ask questions if you don't understand. I won't be insulted.


	8. Heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> questions about Bucky's family are answered, and questions Steve has for Philips are answered as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N/: this one is going to be a lot shorter. In fact I think most from now on might be shorter. Finished chapter 13 and I feel great. I might have to update the warnings to include illusions to sexual activities.  
> lots of humor in that chapter.

Bucky was alone, when Fingon returned with his grandmother. Bucky had just put little Steven down to sleep and was reclining comfortably in the bed, when the door opened and they walked inside. Bucky had been writing a letter back to his family explaining what was going on, when they came in, and set the board and paper aside. Bucky smiled at them and Fingon returned the smile briefly, before Bucky saw the Lady’s morose expression and weak smile.

                “Is something wrong,” he asked, and he felt a knot of worry coil tightly in his gut. The Lady sat down in the chair at Bucky’s bedside and looked him in the eyes.

Her gaze was warm but old beyond reason. There was an ancient wisdom to her gaze that bespoke of long years of having seen more than he could even imagine in his wildest dreams. There was nothing special about her beauty, it simply was. She had the grace of a woman far older than her looks said, and her eyes held within the tales of loss and love. And as she gazed upon Bucky, he felt as if her sight pierced him right to the core of his very being, and her gentle smile said that she liked what she saw, and was pleased with him.

Finally her eyes turned to Fingon, and it boggled Bucky’s mind that the man before him was her grandson. Fingon looked unnerved about something, and swallowed hard under the unyielding gaze of Lady Elfstar.

                “Sergeant Barnes,” he began, “did Arion tell you anything else about who he was; anything at all, no matter how small?” Bucky began to shake his head no, but stopped and had a look of revelation on his face.

                “He said his name was Arion Ingwion,” Bucky answered, “and that his parents were only his foster parents, not his real family. They sent him so school in England to get away from the war, but he got drawn in anyway.” Fingon’s head sank between his hunched shoulders and he let out a heavy sigh filled with sorrow and regret.

He looked back to his grandmother with despair in his eyes, and her own gaze hardened with resolve. She turned her gaze back to Bucky and looked at him with great sadness.

                “I knew Arion,” she said and her voice had a strange accent to it; American but mixed with something else. “I met him so many years ago, when he was still very young. Do you know what that name, Ingwion, means?” Bucky shook his head softly.

                “No,” he said at a near whisper. The lady smiled wryly and raised her right eyebrow in such a way that it made Bucky feel like a ten year old school boy caught neglecting his studies. Bucky ducked his head and blushed under the scrutiny. The lady’s smile softened and she took mercy on him.

                “It means ‘son of Ingwë’, or ‘Ingwë’s son’,” she answered. “Do you know who Ingwë is, Sergeant?” again Bucky shook his head, though the name had a slightly familiar ring to it. “Ingwë is the High King of the Vanyar, and, indeed, of all the Eldar. Arion is second born, his second son.” Bucky’s jaw dropped open in shock.

He gaped like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing, as he tried to voice his whirling thoughts. Emily’s eyebrow again arched, as she looked at his floundering countenance.

                “You mean to say, you didn’t know this, Sergeant Barnes?” she asked.

                “Well… no!” Bucky said with a huff and scoff. “He kind of neglected to say that. He’s a prince?” Emily nodded and watched the confusion and shock morph into disbelief. “He didn’t say anything that made me think that he was anything but a soldier.”

Bucky looked at her and saw pity and despair. She took his hand in her own and held it tightly. Bucky looked down at their clasped hands and thought about all of Arion’s actions before, and it was as if certain shadowed things were now thrown into the light proper. The way he had held himself and spoke to Bucky had spoken of regal upbringing, along with his extreme dislike for Schmidt and his madness. Bucky found his thoughts being drawn back to Arion, thinking about his soft smile and the brightness in his eyes, and suddenly felt a bloom of warmth in his chest. Bucky brought his hand up to rub at the spot and felt a longing tangled up with his own feeling, mingled with love and desire. A soft smile graced his face as he continued to rub the warmth and cling to the feelings within his heart. He was so caught up in feeling the emotions in his chest that he was startled when Emily finally spoke.

                “It feels like warmth, doesn’t it?” she asked and Bucky’s head snapped up to look at her. There was a bittersweet smile on her face. “Like someone’s feelings and emotions not your own. It feels like a flow of emotions pouring into you from outside your existence, this feeling in your chest. At the back of your mind you can sense the thoughts of another within your head, but instead of frightening you, they give you comfort; like a reassuring blanket of thoughts and feelings wrapped around your soul. Is that what it feels like?” Bucky stares at her with wide and almost frightened eyes. He sees only understanding and compassion in her too-old gaze.

                “How do you know that?” he asked so softly only she could hear.  Relief filled her gaze and old sorrow filled her eyes with tears. She brought their twined hands to her own chest, and laid his hand over her heart; covering it with her own.

                “Because, I feel it too,” she said. Bucky’s eyes widened and flickered back and forth from her hand to her eyes. “I have felt it for a very long time; since the day I took Avery as my husband, and I, his wife.” Bucky’s mouth opened again in shock.

                “What is it?” he asked and looked between Fingon and Emily. Fingon had an old sadness in his eyes but there was a type of joy there as well.

                “There is no true name for it,” she said carefully and looked back to her grandson. “Most, though, call it a ‘soul bond’: the binding of spirits or _Fëar_ to become one in soul and mind. It is union, considered most sacred by all Elves, most especially the Eldar.” She turned her gaze back on Bucky and he felt almost overwhelmed by the depth of feeling there. Her eyes were glistening with new tears and he could see a terrible brightness within her eyes, one he could not explain. She took a shuddering breath and continued. “If it is done correctly by two willing souls, it creates a bond between them that can stretch for miles and transcend even death. It strengthens both parties, and either one of the bonded can lend the other their strength to endure the worst of hardships.” Bucky felt his face drain of blood when he heard this. He looked back at her and found only honesty on her face.

                “Sergeant,” Fingon said softly, and Bucky looked over at him with fearful eyes. “I think this is why you, of all the other prisoners experimented on, survived and why your baby lived. Arion bound himself to you. Did he say anything whilst you two were copulating; anything unusual or strange?” Bucky dropped his gaze and thought hard, his mind whirling fast through memories; until it came back to their first night together. A light dawned on his face and he lifted his head to look back at the doctor.

                “Yeah,” he croaked, “yeah, he did. I don’t know as much elvish as my mom or Grandpa would like, but I know a few phrases. He said something about biding and souls becoming one…. That… that’s it. That’s all I can remember.”

Fingon sagged and Emily clasped his hand tighter. Bucky looked back and forth between them for answers, but already knew that they had told him. He sagged down on the bed and tried to absorb the information given to him. He was married. Not legally, but by elven tradition and custom he was married to the second born son of the High King of the Vanyar and Eldar. It was a lot to take in, and Bucky breathed deeply to keep himself calm and from completely losing it. Emily saw the turmoil within him and slipped over to his side. Her hand released his and she pulled him into her arms. Like a loving mother, she allowed him to duck his face into the crook of her neck. Bucky let out a shuddering sigh but didn’t cry.

                “Are you okay?” she asked into his ear. Bucky shuddered again and pulled away slightly so that his face was no longer buried in her hair.

                “It’s just a lot to take in, you know, all in one day,” he said. Fingon chuckled softly and Bucky pulled away completely to look at the physician.  He had a soft smile on his face that was filled with understanding.

                “Trust me, my friend,” he said, “I’ve had my share of those days; and more.” Bucky giggled and smiled, relaxing again.

                “You would think your mother would tell you this,” Emily said with a hint of shock and disbelief. “After all, her being a daughter of Numenor, she should know this; and should have told you.” Bucky felt his face go blank and she saw it.

                “I’m sorry, what?” he asked calmly. “My mother’s… she’s… a Numenorean?”

                “I take it you didn’t know?” she asked and Bucky shook his head dumbly as he tried to absorb even more information. “Well, I don’t know much, but what I do know is that she and most of her family comes from a broken line of the house of Joshua Mormegil, the second son of Arthadan; the line was broken long ago, and the lands to the east suffered for it. I know even less about your father, Thomas George Barnes.” Bucky’s head jerked up in shock and Emily blushed sheepishly. “No, your father is not Numenorean, Bucky. That is the only reason his name reached our ears; the fact that a Gypsy Prince of the east married a Numenorean Lady of royal decent tends to catch the ears of all who know. And my husband knows much, and sees much.” Bucky blushed and smiled gratefully.

                “Thank you for telling me,” he said and she smiled. Bucky looked back at Fingon. “Both of you thank you. You didn’t need to tell me, but you did anyway. So thanks.” Emily smiled again and gave him a parting hug, which he graciously accepted. The Lady stood up and set her hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

                “You need not bear this burden alone, James Barnes,” she said and Bucky gazed into her eyes. “Do not be afraid to seek council with a friend, when it is freely given. Don’t let your heart bear this burden alone. You have friends,” she said and her eyes looked up to the door with a knowing smirk, “some more willing than others to help, and those that won’t let you bear it alone.” Her gaze dropped back to his and he looked back in confusion. She nodded her head toward the door, and dropped her hands from his shoulders.

Fingon stood with a smile and silently bid Bucky goodbye. Emily grinned and watched as Bucky turned around and saw Steve standing in the doorway patiently, waiting for an invitation to enter.

                “Good day, Sergeant Barnes,” she said, “and remember to lean on your friends, when you need it.” and with a wink and smirk she glided silently over to the door and passed Steve on her way out. “Take care of your friend, while you can, Captain. You never know when time will turn against you and swallow up the ones you love and hold most dear.” Steve looked back over his shoulder at her retreating form then back to Bucky.

                “Do you know what she means?” He asked and pointed at her as he walked over to sit by his friend. Bucky smiled and shrugged. He was just about to answer, when Steven woke up and demanded his meal. With a happy smile Bucky picked up his fussing baby and cradled him close. As he began to nurse, the words of wisdom receded from his mind in favor of simply watching his baby grow. ~*~

~*

* * *

 

Over the course of the next few days, Steve and the Commandoes spent hours in council with the Elves, as they worked toward a common goal: the destruction of the HYDRA base on the valley floor. Avery showed his superior skill in strategy and battle planning, nothing escaping his keen elven eyes. He caught holes in former plans and possible areas were a trap might have been set by the Enemy. He poured over topographical maps and charts with Steve planning every move of each unit down to the foot and yard. Steve marveled at his skill and asked how he had learned it. Avery smiled wryly and looked over at Steve with a raised brow.

                “One tends to learn a great deal of things over the course of a few thousand years,” he said, and his cheeky smile fell into something more melancholy. “For my part, I learned this _a very_ long time ago. I was young and eager to go to war; eager to prove myself. I was rash and over bold, filled with wrath and anger. I had lost a man I had held as dear to me as a brother. He was my teacher and mentor. Telpë… he had no sons, and I loved crafting things just as much as he. He took me under his wing and taught me things he had taught no other. He treated me like I was his own son… and they,” Avery paused as his throat closed up with ancient grief, and tears filled his over-bright eyes, spilling over onto sculpted cheeks, “The Enemy murdered him!” he croaked his form shaking with grief and old hurt, a hint of rage twisting his countenance before he calmed. “I was young, and foolish; and it nearly got me killed.” Steve felt sorry for asking but understood a little of what it must have felt like.

                “I don’t know what I would do, if I lost Bucky,” he said quietly staring at the map spread out before them. Avery looked over and saw blankness and fear on Steve’s face. “Maybe I’d go mad, do something rash, I don’t know. I nearly lost Bucky to that factory and I… don’t know if I could handle losing him. Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” Avery smiled softly and clasped Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked up at him and relaxed.

                “These are dreary thoughts that we should not give voice,” he said. “Perhaps it is best if we continue the planning another time, Captain, when our hearts are not filled with sorrow and unfilled grief. Come,” he said pulling Steve away from the maps, “perhaps a drink to sooth our wounded spirits, will ease away these morbid thoughts.” Steve grinned and followed him out for a drink. ~**~*

* * *

 

When Steve finally got alone with Philips he asked him why he was so eager to cover up Bucky’s pregnancy and Steven’s birth.

                “Not that I mind, sir,” he said, “It’s just… I know what the procedure for … that those kinds of guys get sent home with a blue slip. So why did you cover it up; cover for him?” Philips looked Steve in the eye and gave him the what for, right there.

                “When I heard whispers going around that you were some Numenorean prince, I looked into it,” he said. “I started looking up some of the things that were common for them, especially in the royal line. I found that Barnes’ condition has cropped up here and there in the royal family, and is quite possible, if still a rare condition. I was all prepared to cover for you, when you began to express this … difference; I wasn’t expecting Barnes to be the one I’d have to cover for.”

                “Oh,” was all Steve said. He fidgeted for a second before speaking again. “You thought I might be a … hermaphrodite?”

                “It’s genetic, son,” he grumbled, “Ain’t nothin’ you could have done to help it. You might still be one, for all we know. Our docs aren’t exactly equipped to deal with this. Any examination on you could have missed it after the Serum, or it just hasn’t shown up yet, and you weren’t exactly the picture of perfect health either.” Steve huffed out a wry laugh.

                “No, I wasn’t,” he sighed.

                “You might have been too underdeveloped to show it,” he said. “The docs did say you were completely sterile before the procedure, and you’re definitely not now.” Steve blushed and nodded. “You might still be growin’ and developing in there, so forgive me if I want to protect the greatest asset to the War the Allies have from some stupid scandal that would do us no good. The less people who know about HYDRA the better.” Steve smiled softly at Philips’ gruff show of kindness. Philips glared at him but Steve still smiled. “Besides, Barnes is my best sniper, and I am not willing to go through all the trouble of training a new man who won’t be as loyal or protective of you as him. It ain’t my business what goes on in his bedroom, and between the sheets. And as far as I am concerned, as well as my doctors too, Barnes is not exactly male; said so on his birth certificate.”

Steve’s head jerked up at that.

                “You looked up his original birth certificate?” he asked. Philips raised his eyebrow and nodded.

                “Course I did,” he answered, “right after I heard those rumors about you, I looked into all your men; and imagine my surprise, when I found Barnes’ mother’s maiden name to be that of a known Numenorean family.” Steve winced and closed his eyes, before meeting Philips’ glare. “You should have told me.”

“I know, sir,” Steve said, “I know I should have told you…”

“His name was in a census of Numenorean families found at your family estate, Rogers,” Philips interrupted. “Know tell me how that makes me feel to have to found that out on my own, when you already knew.”

                “Like I don’t trust you,” Steve answered, looking down in shame, and chastisement.

                “Like you don’t trust me; that’s right,” Philips said roughly. “I expect you to trust me, Rogers. You let me handle those vultures we call doctors, and you deal with you men and Schmidt; deal?”

                “Deal,” Steve said and shook the offered hand.

                “Good,” he said, “now get out of here! You’ve got a mission to coordinate and I’ve got some doctors to gag order into silence about this.”

                “You sure you can handle that, sir,” Steve offered. Philips glared at him and Steve backed off slowly.

                “I think I can handle a few squinty doctors, Rogers,” he said. “And if they give me trouble, well… let’s just say I’ve got enough dirt on them to fill in the Grand Canyon and bury them forever if I ever find out about them trying to squeal.” Philips’ grin was dark and vindictive, and not something Steve liked so he just backed away and left the room thinking that he never wanted to get on Philips’ bad side again. He was right, though: Steve had a battle to plan.

~*~*~

* * *

 

The battle itself was fierce and bloody. Avery and his army of elves showed their mettle in combat that day. Steve had insisted that Bucky remain behind to care for his child, and though he eventually agreed, Bucky fumed at the implication that he was weak and frail because of the birth. Steve told him straight out that he was more worried about the little boy’s wellbeing than Bucky’s pride. Bucky caved when Steve told him that the boy was simply too young to understand why Bucky was leaving him, even for a short while.

                “He’s just a baby, Buck,” Steve hand said, “he won’t understand why you’re leaving, and it will scare him. We can handle this, Bucky. You just take care of your little boy.” Bucky had glowered menacingly at Steve for a moment before his eyes were drawn to the little boy snuggled up in his blankets on the bed. Steven had grown in the past four days from a tiny baby that Bucky and the commandoes dwarfed in their large arms, to the sweet little toddler now curled up under mountains of blankets.

Bucky’s face had softened into a tender smile as he had thought back to the very first time his child had spoken. Bucky felt his smile grow warmer and his eyes misted over as he had remembered the little baby giggling and laughing as he had reached out his arms to Bucky.  The baby made grabby hands as he lay on Bucky’s knees while Bucky had blown raspberries on his belly. Bucky and the other Commandoes smiled and laughed with him. Bucky had been talking baby talk and had called himself Ada to the baby, telling him how much he loved Steven. The group had all been shocked to silent awe when the sound that came out of the baby’s mouth was not babbling but a word. Out of the giggling and baby talk had come the single word “Ada” which is elvish for daddy.

The word had shocked everyone and had brought tears to Bucky’s eyes. It had also driven home the reality that little Steven was growing too fast to be left alone for long periods of time. Bucky loved his baby, and would never do anything to make him think that he didn’t love him. So with a glare at Steve once more, Bucky relented.

                “That was a low blow, Rogers,” he’d said, “and you know it.” Steve had shrugged and smiled sheepishly. Bucky knew when he was beaten so he stayed behind listening to the radio chatter and clinging to his baby.

On the battlefield, Steve was shown the prowess of the elves in combat for the first time. Their flawless graceful movements transferred to smooth and lethal movements that boggled his mind. Their skill with the bow was unparalleled and their skill with a blade peerless, and Avery outshined them all. He cut through the combatants like a scythe through wheat, his two swords whirling and flashing in the sun. Right behind him was his youngest son, his own sword flashing like lightning and fire in his hand. Avery introduced him as Gabriel Lauresel, and Steve hadn’t thought he would be the type of fierce fighter that Avery said he was; all soft spoken and handsome. But Gabriel proved him wrong; so very wrong. Once on the field of battle, Gabriel proved to be just as relentless a fighter as Avery and then some. His moves had a fluid grace that put even the gracefulness of the elves to shame. Steve didn’t think it was possible for something to have that much fluidity and prowess. Gabriel had a skill that Steve didn’t think someone so young could have, until Gabriel showed his hand; or rather his wings.

They erupted from his back behind his white cloak as he spun mid-air, and they caught the air current enough to let him give a mighty heave and be launched into the air. Everyone seemed to stop for a moment and gape at the magnificent sight he made. The wings were a pearlescent white that seemed to shimmer and sheen like fresh snow on a cold and humid morning, sparkling like diamonds where dusted onto the feathers. They reflected light in such a way that Steve could see the colors of the rainbow reflect over them. The span was huge, well over thirty feet from tip to tip, and they were shaped like the giant wings of some bird of prey. Gabriel hovered in air, his massive wings pumping and churning like a harrier hawk, before he gave a mighty shove and dove upon the enemy. At the last moment his wings snapped out from their tight confines at his sides to a horizontal plane, and he spun at speed like a whirling dervish, his wings’ feathers creating a blade like shape. He slashed into the HYDRA soldiers, his wings acting like giant blades; soft feathers turned as hard and sharp as razor steel. Once on the ground, the wings were like an extension of his fighting style, as they lashed out at anyone foolish enough to try and attack him from the back or the sides.

Steve turned his attention back to the battle and began to punch, kick and bash his way to the compound so that the commandoes, minus Bucky, could free the prisoners. Steve’s shield was flung this way and that several times, before the doors were bashed open by Steve’s serum induced strength.  Just like at all the other bases, the prisoners were held in round cages and cells, and they were poorly treated. Steve let his fury fuel his speed and strength, as he quickly opened the doors and freed the prisoners. After they were safely away, Steve and the others quickly made for the command rooms and grabbed whatever files they could. The clock was ticking, and the Howling Commandoes didn’t have much time to grab whatever evidence they could, along with some new charts and maps, before the base’s self-destruct blew them sky high. Steve had barely managed to get on his bike and high tail it, before the base blew, with everything from weapons to machinery getting incinerated with it.

The HYDRA soldiers were all either dead or dying, by the time Steve and his men came back out to finish the fight. The elves were finishing off the last of the stragglers, when Steve approached Avery for an explanation. Avery glanced over to his son then turned a hard glare over to Steve.

                “I frankly don’t care, my lord, if your son is one of those mutants,” Steve said, “their all human to me, but I think I would have liked to have been informed of this little bit of information about one of my men.” Avery looked long and hard at Steve before his hard look cracked and a smile broke across his face.

                “Gabriel is who he is,” Avery said cryptically, “and it is his place to tell you who he is, not me. Ask him and he will answer.” Steve looked over at the young elf with his wings fluttering and mildly twitching at his back. Gabriel looked long and hard at Steve and he must have liked what he saw there for he did answer the unasked question.

                “I am Lauresel,” he said with his head held proud and his wings arched high above his head, “Archangel and Commander of the Fifth Legion.” Steve blinked in shock and then blinked again. Whatever he had expected it was not this. He swallowed and nodded slowly, cautiously accepting the simple answer for the time being.

                “Okay,” he said and motioned the troops to gather the wounded and dead. The wounded were put on litters and the dead were either carried on litters as well or piled into a quickly dug mass grave, depending on who they were.

Thankfully there were only minimal casualties among the assault teams and the elves, so there were no dead to be carried back, but there were plenty of wounded that would likely die in the healing halls; both Elves and Men alike.

Once back to the fortress, Steve and the Commandoes were greeted by Bucky and the women. Bucky gave Steve a once over to make sure he wasn’t wounded before pulling him into a crushing hug. Steve hugged him back with equal vigor, tucking his nose into Bucky’s neck, and taking comfort in his sent. When he pulled away, Bucky’s eyes were suspiciously misty and his smile watery.

                “I’m okay, Buck,” he murmured with soft eyes and a warm voice. “I’m okay.” Bucky steps out of Steve’s hold and smiles tightly with slight worry.

Suddenly he looks down at his leg and turned around. A bright smile blooms across his face and he kneels down to pick up a little form by his side. Once gathered in his arms, Bucky stands with it settled against his hip. Steve feels his jaw drop as he realized that the form is none other than little Steven, who had grown into an adorable little boy with big blue eyes and dark blond hair. He was pudgy in the way that toddlers are at the age of four, with a cute round face and button nose. Bucky smiled at the little boy who waved shyly and ducked his face into Bucky’s neck. Bucky chuckled and grinned, glancing out of the side of his eye at Steve and the Commandoes. He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of Steven’s head and the tip of his pointed ear.

                “It’s okay, sweetie,” Bucky whispered into his ear, “This is your Uncle Steve.” Steve felt his eyes water with the warmth of the joy swelling in his heart. The little boy turned his face out of Bucky’s neck and smiled bright.

Steve stepped closer and smiled at him, all the while admiring the cherubic beauty of the little boy. Steve felt a few tears run down his face as the joy over flowed within him, but he didn’t mind.

                “Hi,” Steve finally said softly, “my name is Steve. Your Ada named you after me, ‘cause he’s my best friend.” Steven smiled sweetly and blushed as he held himself closer to Bucky. Steve looked up at his friend and saw unconditional love written on his face. Bucky loved his son beyond reason, and no matter what, Steven would always be his son. Steve grinned and held out his arms in inquiry. “Can I hold him, Buck?” Bucky laughed and slowly passed Steven to his namesake.

Steven clung to his Ada for a moment before he shifted his grip to straps on Steve’s uniform. Steve smiled and held him close, his body settled on his hip and Steven’s head pillowed on Steve’s massive chest. With his cheek pressed close to Steve’s heart, Steven smiled up innocently with all the absolute trust on a young child. Steve felt his heart twinge with the love he felt for the little boy.

                “Hi,” Steven said and Steve beamed at the little boy.

                “Hi,” Steve chuckled back with a bright grin. “You can call me Uncle Steve, if you want. I was there when you were born, so I guess that makes us pretty close.” Steven blushed but snuggled up closer to Steve’s warmth. “You know, you look an awful lot like your Ada, but that’s okay,” he whispered into Steven’s ear, “your Ada’s a good lookin’ guy, and he’s my best friend; so that makes us friends too, right Stevie?” Steven beamed up at Steve and nodded vigorously.

                “Yeah,” Steven chirped, and Steve chuckled. Suddenly Steven’s stomach growled and the whole group laughed. “Ada, I’m hungry,” he said. With a grin and chuckle, Bucky gently took Steven out of Steve’s arms and into his own. “Drink,” he demanded, and Bucky shushed him; grabbing his hands as they began to pull at his shirt.

                “Okay, sweetie,” he placated, “just a minute. Sorry about this, guys, but he’s hungry, and he can get a little demanding, when that happens.” So with a regretful smile, Bucky left the room and went back to his room to give his son a nurse, before a more solid meal.

After Steven was fed, Bucky slowly sat down in the rocking chair by his bed and held his son. He slowly rocked them, his cheek resting on Steven’s golden crown, humming an ancient lullaby; soothing his little boy to sweet dreams. Every now and then Bucky would wince, when a still tender spot would pull; reminding him that he had only given birth a few days ago. Steve found them like this an hour later, Bucky still rocking the chair and softly singing to his son. Steven had fallen asleep to the sound of his Ada’s voice and steady heartbeat mingled in his ears.

                “ _Hush, child, don’t cry/listen to my heart/let its soft and steady beats/ take you far into your dreams/ Listen oh listen/ listen to my heart/ let it carry you away/into worlds so far away/ let its steady beat/ carry you to your dreams/and let it bring you home/ to me again/ Listen oh Listen/ listen to my heart/ and these beats/ are for you alone. My heart is yours/ sweet child of the dawn/let its beating say/ forever I’m yours.”_ The soft and haunting melody washed over Steve and soothed the dark thoughts and images from the day from his mind.

Steve smiled and leaned on the door frame; breathing in the serenity and love permeating the room and taking comfort in it. With a deep sigh, Steve pulled himself off the frame and walked into the room. Bucky stopped singing and looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps made purposefully on the floor. Steve was as silent as his Elven kin, and had startled the Commandoes more than once with how quiet he could be for his size. Steve forever learned the lesson to always make a sound, when approaching Bucky from behind. This lesson came in the form of a fist to his eye from a startled Bucky, when Steve had accidentally snuck up on him. The resulting black eye and cracked nose didn’t remain long, but the lesson remained long after the bruising had faded.

Bucky smiled at his friend and Steve smiled back at the man he had come to proudly call his brother in all but name. Steve sat down in the chair beside Bucky and calmly waited for Bucky to stand and tuck his little boy into bed, before returning to the chair. Steve waited until Bucky was settled before he spoke.

                “Philips wants to stay a few more days to let you heal up and give us all a bit of a break,” he said with clasped hands, as he looked up at his friend from his hunched position; elbows on knees. Bucky nodded and Steve continued, “it’s gonna be at least three more days before we can pack up shop and move to the next target, and I told him it would be better for Stevie to have some stability right now, before we have to move.” Again Bucky nodded, and Steve looked his friend over closer, when he didn’t get more than silent agreement. Steve sat up straight, when he noted the tired look on Bucky’s youthful face and the bone deep exhaustion that had not left him since the birth. Steve stood up and went over to his friend. The heavy hand on his shoulder broke Bucky out of the glazed state for a moment, before he looked up and saw the concerned look on Steve’s face as he knelt down by the chair.

                “Buck,” he asked slowly, “when was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” Steve saw Bucky furrow his brow as he thought, and Steve’s shoulders drooped at the light one shoulder shrug from his friend. “Okay, Bucky. You need sleep; real rest, so get in bed and don’t get out for at least eight hours. That’s an order, Sergeant, so come on!” Steve said calmly as he gently pulled Bucky to his feet and maneuvered him to the large bed by Steven’s own little cot. Steve tugged off Bucky’s shoes and helped him pull off his coat, before Bucky shucked his trousers and crawled under the thick blankets. The moment his head hit the pillow, Bucky was fast asleep.

Steve smiled and sat down in the rocker to sit vigil over his friend and godson. Bucky made it known the first day that Steve was the perfect Godfather to little Stevie. And Steve was a proud uncle from that day on. Steven’s growth rate meant growing pains that left the boy drained and always hungry. The fast metabolism didn’t help things but Bucky’s milk was high in fats and proteins; meaning that Steven could nurse a few times a day to supplement the solid foods and have more than enough calories to grow. Bucky could handle the extra food, whereas Steven couldn’t. So Bucky ate lots of high fat and caloric foods to keep up his weight, and nurse Steven.

Steve kicked himself mentally for not realizing that the last four days had taken their toll on Bucky, but relaxed and waited out the night. The extra energy he had meant he could stay up for this one time to let Bucky get the rest he needed to get better. Steve settled into a light doze, ready to wake at a moment’s notice, and made a mental note to ask the guys to take shifts watching Steven at night to let Bucky sleep and recover his strength.

~~**~*

* * *

 

After that, the rest of the week went by in a blur. Little Steven continued to grow and flourish under the care of the Commandoes and Bucky. His first words soon turned into sentences and the little boy was soon making conversations with Peggy and Howard. Howard was fascinated by the little boy’s growth and mental development, and constantly quizzed the boy to find out where his learning was improving and where it was lagging.

Steven had all the enhanced learning and abilities that Steve exhibited and more. He was reading before he took his first steps, and was running circles around everyone, driving his Ada ragged and into exhaustion. Bucky didn’t know what he would have done without Steve and the Commandoes. They were a Godsend to the tired parent and sniper. Dugan and Steve took care of him, when he was overflowing with energy; energy that Bucky seemed to lack at the moment to keep up with his energetic child. The two men played rough housing games with the little boy, (tag, cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, you know school ground games) and never failed to burn off his excess energy so that the other Commandoes could have a hand at teaching him. Falsworth and Jones taught him his languages and with Steve’s help, a little bit of strategy. They read old books about Knights and fair maidens to him, when Bucky was with Steve looking over their next assault plans, and taught him the values of those peerless knights: courage, honor, bravery, compassion, fairness, and a kind and gentle heart. Bucky forever drove these values home, and did his best to be a good example of what a good man should be.

Jones and Jacques taught him French, while Steve taught him Elvish, and Bucky gave up his bad habits so Steven wouldn’t copy them. Steven had lessons in Math and Science, with a little bit of tech thrown in, with Morita and Stark. Steven loved those lessons because he would always never fail to laugh at Stark’s expression, when he got a problem right in a way even Stark didn’t see. Peggy and Steve taught him code breaking, and Bucky, at the end of the day, would take his son to the big ballroom, turn on the phonograph and teach his boy how to dance to the rhythm of the big band music.

Each and every one of the Commandoes willingly gave up a bad habit to set a good example to the growing young mind. Smoking went out the window the moment he was born, as did heavy drinking, at least until the kid was old enough to join them. By far the hardest habit to kick to the curb was the cussing and swearing. Bucky found it funny that the five men that he had come to know as the foulest mouthed men in the whole of the US  Army and Allied forces combined where checking themselves, when a swear was about to come out of their mouths. Dugan was the worst. He always stopped dead in the middle of the word and backtracked to a more kid friendly word. It made Steve and Bucky snort and huff with restrained laughter. Steven either didn’t notice or was too caught up with his studies to care. Even Stark had ceased his cussing, when Steven was around, going so far as to make up a whole slew of kiddy curses that flowed from his mouth just as easily as the regular ones, even while under a piece of machinery that was ‘attempting’ to kill him.

Steven giggled and laughed at Stark from his spot at his desk in Stark’s temporary lab, in Avery’s private workshop.

                “ _OW! FUDGE IT! YOU GOSHDARN PIECE OF CRAP MACHINE!”_ Came Stark’s usual string of explanative curses, following a crash that had Stark scrambling out from under some piece of stolen equipment, (i.e. the truck) before he gave the thing a hard and swift kick to the tire. The tire fell off, of course, and right onto Stark’s foot. “ ** _OW!_** _Mother Fudge it!”_ Steven giggled and laughed at Stark’s misery and suffering, until Steve and Bucky came it to find Stark hopping on one foot, holding the injured one, still cussing out a blue streak with his friendly cuss words.

That was one incident of many, over the course of the three day’s since the HYDRA base’s destruction, but stuck out in everyone’s minds because of the hilarity of it all. Steve still giggled and snorted, when he saw Stark, and Bucky snickered behind his hand.

Those few days after the base was cleared brought levity to the men that was sorely needed, and gave Bucky enough time to recover his lost strength. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and by the seventh day since Steven’s birth, the SSR and the Howling Commandoes had packed up their things and were preparing to move out, and back to their raids and demolition.

As they were packing way the last of the crates, Avery came and pulled Steve and Bucky aside to give them a personal farewell.

                “It has been an honor fighting beside you, Captain,” he said to Steve with a warm and fond smile. “I hope someday we will draw swords together once more, and that we will meet in times of peace.” Steve grinned and sobered his face before he inclined his head respectfully. Bucky did the same before Avery turned his inhuman gaze to him. “Be strong, Sergeant Barnes, for your trials have just begun. Take comfort in the company of those around you, for they may not be with you forever.” Avery’s eyes grew misted and sorrowful as his gaze drifted into somewhere far away.

                “I will, my lord,” Bucky said softly. “And thank you for all that you have done.” Avery smiled and watched as Bucky gave a polite bow at the waist and turned back to gather up his son. Avery gazed long and sadly at the laughing and smiling boy. Steve saw his gaze fixed on something behind him and turned. Seeing Bucky blow raspberries on Steven’s belly brought a smile to his face. The elf lord’s eyes snapped back to Steve with incredible intensity, and Steve sobered under it.

                “Take care, Steve Rogers, son of the House of Arthadan,” he said with the ringing clarity of a prophet about to proclaim doom, “take care of whom you trust. Be cautious of vipers wearing false faces; for if you don’t, it is likely you will go to your doom. Keep your thoughts to yourself and take council with only your closest companions.” His hard gaze soften with pity and anguish as his gaze clouded with visions of what was yet to come: the cold of the arctic night and ice water; blood red upon the white snow, and the sound of echoing screams, ringing throughout the tundra; screams of agony and fear, and a name cried out above the howl of the wind and the clacking of train wheels on tracks. When his vision cleared, he looked at Steve and Bucky with sorrow.

                “We’ll be careful,” Steve replied, taking the elf lord’s words to heart. Avery smiled sadly at the surety in his voice. “I have the best team out there to help me, and Bucky won’t let anything happen to me.” Steve grinned and turned away, missing the look of sorrow and grief that broke across Avery’s face.

                “It is not you I fear for,” he whispered, and leaned into his wife’s arm, when she came up to stand beside him. “I fear for James and the future yet before him. I fear for his son, and the ordeals and burden he will someday bear.” A single tear ran down his face as Steve and the commandoes piled into the trucks and drove away. Steve smiled and waved back at them, and Bucky and Steven did the same. Avery’s eyes closed as the SSR, Steve Rogers and his unit disappeared from sight, and a single tear ran down his face as he proclaimed his final words to them quietly so that only his wife could hear, “farewell, my dear Captain. My God’s hands cover you and protect you from danger, for ‘ _These are the times that try men’s souls._ ’”

TBC…

AN: I hope you like the foreshadowing, and give us a review.  The next chapters are more date based and in specific moments. I’m still gearing up for the big moment. Next up, the manifestation of Steven’s gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please give me a kudos if you like and review, if you have questions or want to comment.


	9. It Has Become Manifest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven manifests incredible power and the SSR deals with it. after a justifiable freak out, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings; battle ahead, so child endangerment, violence, and gross misunderstanding of mutant power structure. Someone beta me for God’s sake! Lots of character development, and OC based stuff.   
> a lot gets explained in this chapter, so please review if you don't get it. if you like just pop me a kudos, and a positive review.  
> just finished chapter 14 and passed the 100,000 word mark. you'll see it marked in the chapter. Alright then onto the fic!

 

The raids continued without fail, and Steven grew with each passing hour. Bucky left for each mission with a heavy heart, promising Steven that he would come back each time; knowing that one of those times it might be a lie. After each mission, Bucky would rush through debriefing to see his son, sweep him up into his arms, twirl him around just to hear his laughter, and plant a big kiss on Steven’s cheek. All of the Commandoes are stunned at how much he has grown over the days since his birth, and Bucky finds himself wishing that he could be with him more and more, as Steven grows into a young preteen boy.

Bucky had known from Steven’s first few days of life that his son was very special, first with how fast he was growing, then into the more physical gifts that seemed to have been inherited from his exposure to the experiments. But nothing prepared Bucky for the next few days. Steven was only ten days old, when they made a discovery that changed their entire viewpoint on him.

It started as something small and unnoticeable at first. Steven had found his way into Stark’s mobile workshop, and had found a piece of broken equipment. Earlier that day, Steven was sitting in Bucky’s tent waiting for him to say goodbye for the day. He had started looking through his Ada’s things and had found a drawing Steve had made for him months back.

Steven had never seen anything so pretty before. It was a drawing of Bucky’s family back home. It was the one thing that had survived the trails he’d had in the camp; besides Steven. It was Bucky’s treasure. Steven thought it pretty, and grabbed a blank piece of paper to draw on, before he started meticulously copying the style and flow of the pencil on paper. This was how Steve and Bucky had found him: drawing pictures of his Ada and his friends.

Bucky sat down beside his son in wonder at the talented drawing his child had done. Steven smiled up at his Ada and showed him.

                “Did you draw this, Stevie?” Bucky’d asked. Steven nodded as Bucky picked up the drawing and held it up for Steve to see. Steve felt his eyes widen in shock and looked at the boy impressed at his talent.

                “You like it, Ada?” Steven asked. Bucky smiled proudly and pulled Steven into a tight hug.

                “I love it,” he answered while pressing a kiss into Steven’s crown of golden hair. He pulled away and looked over the picture again. It was of himself and Steve with the commandoes. It was artfully rendered and looked like something an ascribing artist would have drawn, not by a child not yet in puberty. The style somewhat resembled Steve’s, with its slightly comic book-esk rendering, but had a more angelic glow to it; more like something out of a renaissance painting. It was beautiful, and Bucky was so proud that his son found something more in common with his Uncle than just his name. “Can I keep this, sweetie?” he asked and Steven smiled big and bright while nodding his head. With a word of thanks and a final kiss, Bucky said goodbye to his son.

                “Promise it again, Ada,” he begged clinging to Bucky’s blue jacket, “promise.” Bucky knelt back down in front of Steven and looked him straight in the eye.

                “I will come back,” he swore, “I will be safe.” Then he pulled Steven into a tight hug, before standing and walking out of the tent. ~~~***

* * *

 

Steven left the tent and was soon bored of the quiet and found himself if Stark’s lab to find something to pass the time until Steve and the Commandoes came back, and, of course, Bucky. That was how he had found himself tinkering with a broken radio transmitter at one of the stations. Stark came in to work on a project and found him putting the casing back on.

                “What are you doing?” Stark practically screamed, and Steven jumped in fright; dropping the screwdriver in his hands. He whirled around as Stark rushed over to check the transmitter.

                “I’m sorry,” he squeaked as he trembled in fear. Stark was fuming and desperately running his hands over the radio before he turned his glare on Steven. “I just wanted to fix it.” Stark’s quizzical expression would have been funny and normally would have made Steven laugh, but the boy was too scared of the bigger man to do that at the moment.

                “Fix it?” Howard asked, dumfounded. Steven nodded and looked at the radio.

                “I saw what was wrong with it,” he said not looking at Stark’s face as his eyes welled with tears. “And I knew how to fix it.” He turned his eyes back to Howard, when he was met with silence. His shocked and amazed look gave him courage to explain. “There were some connectors loose by the vacuum tubes, that’s why it kept cutting out,” he explained and pointed at the radio shyly.

Stark looked at the boy with surprise before he turned back to the transmitter and took off the casing. He looked all over the thing the day before, and could not find what was wrong with it. Eventually, he gave in and decided to just requisition the parts to make a new one for Morita and the Commandoes. The fact that Steven had not only found the problem, but fixed it as well, made him a bit miffed, professionally and personally.  He turned back to the boy, who was shyly glancing up every few moments, and pointed at the device.

                “Show me,” Stark demanded, and Steven smiled. He climbed back on the stool to be higher up and pointed to a set of connectors hidden by the tubes. Stark looked at the spot for a moment before his jaw dropped open in shock. “How could I have missed that?” he said softly to himself. “I must have looked it over ten times.” Then Howard suddenly got a puzzled look on his face and he turned back to Steven. “How did you see it?”

Steven shrugged and looked down at the floor illusively. Howard looked at the boy expectantly, and waited for an answer.

Steven bit his lip and mumbled, not daring to look up at Stark.

                “I’m sorry, Steven. I didn’t catch that,” he said firmly. Steven winced and looked up at Stark. Howard’s face was blank but curious.

                “I touched the casing and I just… knew what was wrong,” he said. Stark’s eyes widened in shock and his arms unfolded. “It’s … it felt like it told me what was wrong, and I knew how to fix it.” Stark looked at Steven completely dumbfounded, as he tried to process the information given. His mouth gaped and opened and closed like a gasping fish. Steven got agitated by the lack of response and started babbling quickly. “Whenever I’m around stuff that’s broken or not working right, I just know what’s wrong and how to fix it. And... And once, I just touched it, and willed it to get better… and it did.” He looked up at Stark with fearful eyes overflowing with tears, as he started gasping rapidly for breath.

Stark knelt down and put his hands on Steven’s shoulders to calm him down. Steven started sobbing and shaking, and Howard looked at the boy with complete awe.

                “Steven,” he said slowly and carefully, “I want you to take a deep breath, and calm down.” Steven did as Stark asked, and took a calming breath. “Look at me, Steven.” Steven looked at Howard with watery eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You have a … amazing gift! Barnes said you were special, and by golly he’s right!”

Steven smiled and threw himself into Howard’s chest; wrapping his arms around him as he clung to Stark like a lifeline. Stark froze, ridged, before he tentatively pulled his arms round the boy. Howard rested his cheek on Steven’s head and pulled the boy closer.

                “I was so scared no one would understand,” Steven confessed into Stark’s shirt. Howard raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath; puffing up his cheeks and pursing his lips.

                “I don’t think I understand completely, kid,” he said, “but I ain’t gonna hold your strange abilities against you. But Steven,” he said as he pulled the boy away from his chest and looked him in the eye, “you have got to tell your Ada about this. Okay?” Steven wiped his eyes and face, and nodded.

                “Okay,” he answered. Steven gave him a watery smile. ~*~*

* * *

 

Later, when the Commandoes returned from their mission that day, Steven and Howard showed them Steven’s newly acquired gifts. Bucky was shocked beyond belief, and not to mention a little freaked. He expected the enhanced strength and endurance Steve had from the Serum, but nothing like his ability with technology. Steven just hugged his Ada, all the while sobbing in fear that Bucky won’t love him anymore.

                “I will always love you, Stevie,” Bucky told Steven, as he clung to his child, kissing his forehead and rocking him in his arms. “No matter what, I will always love you. You are my little miracle. I would be stupid to throw you away because you are different, not to mention a hypocrite. I’m different too, Steven. No matter how you change, you will always be my son.” Steven clung tightly to Bucky and Steve came up to sandwich the boy in his arms. He held both Bucky and Steven, praying for understanding and wisdom.

Steven showed that his gift with Technology was not the only thing he was gifted with, later that day. The sounds of the wounded came to the ears of the little boy, and curiosity was one of the main things that had gotten the boy in trouble before. Steven followed the moans and cries of pain into the infirmary and saw his Ada, and Steve sitting at the bedside of one of the Commandoes. It was Falsworth, he had been badly wounded by shrapnel, and the moment they had arrived back at camp, he was taken into surgery. Now the Major was lying in bed, with Steve and Bucky at his side. The worried and sad looks on the pair’s faces’ spoke volumes as to what had happened and how bad the injury was.

Falsworth was, blessedly, asleep and would remain so for some time. His injury was to his left side and was covered in thick bandages. Steven could see his arm lying on the covers wrapped in cloth from fingers to bicep. His leg was suspended above the covers and in a cast from above the knee to past the heel of his foot. Steven knew that the injury was bad, and was likely to send Falsworth home. Steven carefully crept up to the bed and looked up at his Ada in the chair. Bucky was a wreck: his face pale from fright and his eyes red from crying. His face was covered in tear tracks and Steven could see tears still welling up in Bucky’s eyes. Steve was not fairing much better.

It was Steve’s decision that had left Falsworth in the field as commander while he and Bucky returned to base for a debriefing on the situation. Neither man could have predicted that there was a group of HYDRA loyalists in the town, nor that one would toss a grenade into their midst. Falsworth had spotted the explosive in the nick of time to call out a warning, allowing the troops to take cover before the grenade exploded. Falsworth was not so lucky. The Major had ducked out of the way, but still took a large brunt of the blast to his side. Shrapnel had lodged itself in his leg and arm and had left his major organs untouched, but the bandage on his head was from being thrown into the side of a truck from the blast. His leg had broken and his arm was fractured, but his head wound had the doctors’ tutting and shaking their heads. Steve felt responsible for it, and blamed himself.

Steven didn’t like the sad looks on their faces, nor did he like seeing his uncle Monty bandaged and still on the bed. The little boy reached out a hand and took hold of Falsworth’s left hand. He held it in a tight grip and willed life back into the motionless limbs. Bucky looked down and saw Steven take Falsworth’s hand, and his eyes widened in awe as the boy’s hand began to glow. The light surrounded Steven’s hand and soaked into Falsworth’s own. Steven’s other hand touched the leg under the blankets and began to glow as well. The light seeped and flowed to the injured parts of Falsworth’s body and brought a warm golden glow to the skin that lit from within.

Both Bucky and Steve stared in awe as Steven’s whole body began to glow with golden light. The whole thing caught the attention of the doctors and nurses, and they had all stopped and stared in awe. The whole thing lasted less than a minute, but the affair brought an unnatural stillness to the room. The glow, which emanated from the boy, dimmed and flowed into Falsworth’s injured body. Steven released his hand and opened his eyes. With a warm and happy smile, he looked up at Bucky. Bucky was numb with shock for a moment, before the two soldiers heard Falsworth groan and wake. Steve leapt to his feet and leaned over Falsworth, joy and shock warring on his face. A joyous smile pulled across his mouth as Falsworth opened his eyes and groaned.

                “Rogers?” he groaned as his eyes adjusted to the light. “What happened?”

Steve grinned and looked at Bucky. Bucky looked back and forth between his son and Falsworth, a look of dumb shock on his face. Steven leaned into his Ada with a sigh, before he collapsed. Bucky caught him and the doctors and nurses finally leapt into action. Bucky pulled Steven into his arms and laid him down on the cot next to Falsworth’s, just as the doctors went about examining the Major. Bucky gently shook Steven’s shoulders to wake him, and noted the pallor of his skin.

                “Stevie,” he said, with growing fear, as he saw how shallow Steven was breathing, “Steven! Steven, wake up! Come on, baby boy, open your eyes.” Steve turned and saw Steven and Bucky. His smile vanished and he dropped to his knees by the cot. Bucky looked up and Steve saw the growing fear in his eyes, as well as the tears. Steve mirrored him and looked down at the little boy. Steven twitched and took a deep breath before his eyes fluttered open and he smiled up at his Ada.

                “Did I do alright?” he asked, in a weak voice. “Is Uncle Monty better?” Bucky smiled through his rolling tears and gave a watery and tearful laugh.

                “Yeah, honey,” he answered softly, “he’s fine. You did great!”

~*~*~

The Doctors called Falsworth’s recovery nothing short of miraculous. His wounds were completely healed, and even the scars were gone. The doctors didn’t know how Steven did it, but Bucky and Steve did. The Gift of Healing was rare among the elves, but among the Eldar and Vanyar it was a common talent. It seemed to the Commandoes and to Steve and Bucky that little Steven had inherited a talent from his father, and it was a gift well received. But as amazing as the Gift of Healing was, and in the way Steven manifested it, it was nothing compared to what happened next.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

It had been twelve days since Steven’s birth and already the Commandoes were beginning to see a glimpse of the breadth of power beginning to well up from within Steven’s core. As much as Bucky would have loved to stay with his baby and help him, there was a mission on the roster that needed to be completed. The commandoes had left the day before and were finishing up the mission. Just like all the missions before, it was a complete success. Bucky was glad for the ease in which they handled the base, and was eager to return to HQ and see his son. He didn’t want to miss a second of Steven’s development. He had already missed the first lost baby teeth, and growth spurts. He didn’t want to miss his son’s whole life while on missions. He wanted so badly to be there for his child, for the most important moments of his life; so getting back to HQ after this last mission was more than he could have hoped for.

When they arrived back at camp, there is an immediate rush for the Commandoes to debrief about the mission and go over the new Intel acquired during the raid. Bucky looked through the jumble of people for his son, before he finally spotted him standing shyly beside Agent Carter. Bucky was once again overcome with awe over how much Steven had managed to grow over the last day and a half. Steven was now shoulder height with Peggy, and his sweet face was slowly moving from the round pudginess of childhood to adolescence. There was lankiness to his limbs as there hadn’t been before, and a coltish look about him.

Bucky pushed aside he sorrow over not being there for him, and grinned. Bucky pulled out of the crowd and into the open, walking purposefully toward his son. Steven saw him and his face pulled into a joyous grin. He pulled away from Peggy and ran toward Bucky. Bucky dropped the strap of the rifle off his shoulder before he opened his arms and knelt down. Steven collided with Bucky’s chest, and Bucky wrapped his son in a warm and strong bear hug. Steven laughed and shrieked with joy as Bucky pulled him up and spun them both around.

                “Ada!” Steven cried joyfully. Bucky smiled into Steven’s neck and breathe deep his son’s unique sent. Steven tucked his face into Bucky’s shoulder. “I missed you, Ada,” he murmured into the juncture between neck and shoulder. Bucky pulled his nose out of Steven’s neck and pressed his lips to behind Steven’s pointed ear.

                “I missed you too, Stevie,” he whispered. Bucky pulled away and sat Steven down on his feet, and with a sly grin on his face and his eyes sparkling, he set his hands on Steven’s shoulders to get a good look at his boy. “You grew! You’re growin’ too fast, baby. Before you know it, you’ll be as tall as your old man!” Steven giggled at Bucky’s teasing and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist for one last hug. Bucky pressed a kiss to Steven’s forehead, letting his sorrow and fear overwhelm him for a moment before the mask of simple joy and love slipped back on.

                “I wanna show you somethin’, Ada,” Steven said as he tugged him over to his tent. Bucky laughed and he allowed himself to be pulled to the desk where Steven’s school work was laid out. Steven pulled up his latest paper, fresh from Stark’s grading with a bright red “A” marked at the top. Bucky felt his jaw drop in shock and looked up to see his son looking at his shoes and smiling shyly. All at once Bucky was filled with a great swell of pride and love at his talented son. It was only the discrete clearing of another’s throat that Bucky looked away from the paper.

                “He really did earn that,” Stark said from the entrance to the tent. His lips were pursed and he had a look of intrigue and slight frustration on his face. Bucky cocked an eyebrow at the millionaire, urging him to expound on his statement. Stark quirked a cocky half grin at Bucky and took his hands out of his pockets as he walked up to the Sergeant. “The ‘A’, Steven earned it; every mark. Kid is as smart as me, and he is still learning. Kinda drives me nuts!” Stark chuckled and Steven grinned up at them proudly. “Kinda makes you wonder where he gets his smarts from, eh, Barnes?” Bucky shrugged with a cocky secret smile. Stark snorted and cocked his brow again. “I read your transcripts, Serge, and not only were they exemplary, you fell into some of the same intelligence range as Captain Rogers. I know Steve was a smart kid before he got the Serum, but his test scores didn’t always reflect that. Isn’t that right, Bucky?”

                “Steve missed school a lot,” Bucky answered, “sometimes I’d help him catch up. Steve is smart. He just didn’t get a good education because of how sick he would get.” Stark smiled knowingly at this, before he schooled his features into professional blankness.

                “You’re needed for debriefing, Sergeant Barnes,” he said and gently took the paper from Bucky’s hands. As the three of them walked out, Howard set it down on the desk; giving it one last glance.

Bucky took Steven’s hand, and led him over to the table where Steve and the others were talking about the mission. Bucky stopped for a moment, and grabbed the arm of a young Private as he walked passed. The soldier looked up and turned three shades of white, when he saw who had grabbed his arm. Bucky ignored the look of awe and shock on the kid’s face, and pulled him closer so he could talk to him.

                “Could you look after Stevie here,” Bucky asked, “I need someone to mind him for a few minutes, and I have no faith in Stark.” The two shared a chuckle at the Millionaire’s expense, before the kid nodded and took Steven’s hand with a smile.

Bucky turned and walked toward the table with the map set out on it. It was only a few yards away, but Bucky never got there.  Steve looked up from his hunched over position at the table and smiled. Bucky grinned back, and it was in this moment that their lives changed forever.

Bucky raised his hand up to answer Steve’s wave, when the first bomb struck. Bucky jolted and turned towards the blast site, when the next volley hit near the Command tent. It was so close; the shock wave threw Steve and the Commandoes to the ground. Bucky fell flat on his back, when another shell hit just yards from him. The sound was deafening, and left a ringing in Bucky’s ears. All noise was muffled as Bucky rolled onto his stomach and looked up. That was when he saw the young Private guarding Steven get struck by a familiar blue light. The HYDRA weapon disintegrated the man completely, and left Steven out in the open, vulnerable to enemy fire.

Bucky screamed out and scrambled to his feet, desperate to protect his baby from harm.

~~**~*~

* * *

 

Steven didn’t remember the first shell hitting, but he remembered screaming in fear, when the next one hit near his Ada. His guard shielded Steven from the falling debris with his own body.

                “We’re under attack!” someone screamed. The soldier shielding Steven looked up, and paled in fright, when the first HYDRA soldiers burst from the tree line; firing their weapons as they went.

                “Steven,” the soldier screamed over the noise of battle, and Steven frightfully looked up at the man. “Kid, you need to make for cover! Run for the tree line and hide! Can you do that?” Steven nodded, and the soldier began to usher the boy away from the main battle. Steven glanced over his shoulder and saw Bucky lying on the ground not moving. Steven stopped and turned back.

                “Ada!” he screamed at the top of his voice.

                “Kid!” the soldier screamed as he scrambled to grab Steven, when he bolted back towards his Ada. The Private saw a soldier take aim at the boy, and, without hesitation, moved in front of the blast. In that last moment before it hit, he found himself back home with his parents; happy again.

Steven screamed in terror, when the soldier evaporated from right in front of him. He looked around him, hunching in on himself and crying out in terror. Tears of fear and panic ran down his face and left muddy tracks in the dirt on his face.

                “Ada!” he screamed over and over, praying that Bucky would hear and come to the rescue. Bucky did hear, and he scrambled to get his footing on the muddy ground, as he ran to his son.

Steve saw the whole event play out in slow motion before his eyes. As Bucky neared Steven, a HYDRA goon spotted the lone child on the battlefield crying in terror and despair.  Steve swung his shield at a nearby soldier and moved to attack the man. He ran as fast as he could, his boots slipping on the muddy ground, stirred to muck by the frantic movements of soldiers and the torrential rain the day before. Steve could only watch in horror, as the soldier leveled his gun sights on little Steven and charged the weapon. Steve flung his shield with all his might, but the gun discharged before it reached him.

Steven wasn’t the only one trying desperately to stop the soldier. Bucky saw the gun leveled at his child and let out a scream of horror.

                “NO!” he cried and pulled out his gun. Not taking his eyes off Steven, he fired the gun at the soldier: once, twice, three times, emptying his clip into the soldier’s body just as the blast hit Steven. Bucky let out a scream of agony and grief, as he fell to his knees, helpless as he watched the blast hit his only child. Steven had put up his arms to shield himself from the blast, and screamed in fear, when the light surrounded him. Bucky felt his throat close up and tears began to fall.

That is when it happened: the miracle. As the blast hit, instead of disintegrating Steven, it surrounded him and seeped into his every pore, as if Steven was not something to be destroyed. Steven contorted in agony, as his body absorbed the energy from the blast. All activity seemed to stop as Steven stood whole and hale where he was before. Bucky gasped out in relief and shock, tears flowing freely as he gazed upon his son, alive when anyone else would be simply gone. Bucky scrambled back to his feet and moved toward Steven. As he got closer he saw the change that had come over his son: he was shaking like a leaf, and jittering, and as if he had just run a long race, his legs were trembling. Steven looked down at his hands with confusion, not knowing what had just happened.

                “Stevie,” Bucky croaked out and his boy looked up from his hands. Bucky’s eyes widened as he saw a blue-ish glow inside Steven’s eyes; the glow giving his son an “other-worldly” appearance.

                “Ada,” Steven squeaked, and Bucky urged his body to move faster. Steven heard a shout and looked up to see the HYDRA soldier’s rush him. Steven flung out his hands to ward them off, and shield himself from further harm, and they are thrown back by an invisible force. The allied soldiers watched in awe as the goons are flung back a good fifty feet away from the boy. Steven looked as his hands in shock for a moment, until more goons rushed him. This time from his hands are flung pure electrical energy like bolts of lightning. It strikes the soldiers and blasts through them like spears. When the rest of the soldiers saw what had happened to their fellow agents, they turned tail and fled.

The tide of the skirmish turned in the favor of Steve and his Commandoes, as they finished off the last of the enemy, and tried to round up the survivors. Bucky focused on Steven. Steven had clamped his hands over his ears and curled in on himself. Bucky quickly gathered him up and rushed over to a more secure part of the camp. By the time they got there, Steven was whining and whimpering as he clutched his ears to his head.

                “Steven,” Bucky said when he set him down. “Steven, open your eyes and look at me.” Steven’s face contorted in overwhelmed agony as he squeezed his eyes even tighter shut. Bucky clutched Steven’s shoulders for a second then clasped his hands around Steven’s jaw. Steven opened his eyes and tears fell.

                “It hurts!” he cried, and Bucky felt hopelessness overwhelm him for a moment. “It’s too loud! Make it stop, Ada!” Bucky looked at his son in sorrow and despair, before he pulled him close to his chest and clutched him in his arms.

                “Bucky!” he heard Steve cry, and looked up to find the Commandoes and Steve making their way over to them. Steve dropped to his knees in front of Bucky and Steven, and reached out his hands hesitantly; not sure what to do. “What’s wrong with him,” he asked. Bucky shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

                “I don’t know,” he answered, feeling his desperation rising. “He just started clutching his ears and saying it was too loud.” Bucky pulled Steven away from his chest and found fresh tears running down his child’s face. “What’s too loud, Stevie? What’s wrong? You can tell me. You can tell your Ada what’s wrong. Just tell me.” Steven sobbed and cupped his ears again, and began rocking back and forth.

                “There’s too many!” he cried, “There are too many voices! I can’t think! Get them _out of my head_!” Bucky felt his body sag in dumbfounded shock.

                “Stevie,” he said softly and pulled Steven’s hands away from his ears. Steven looked up at Bucky with desperation. “Can you hear mine? Can you hear my voice in your head?”  Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion.

                “Buck, what are you thinkin’” he asked and Bucky shushed him.

                “It’s just a theory,” he said to him and turned back to Steven. “Sweetie, can you hear me?” Steven looked up at his Ada, and shook his head.

                “It’s too loud,” he whimpered. “They’re all over lapping, and can’t hear through the noise!” he sobbed and pressed his face into Bucky’s chest. Bucky gaped in shock for a moment before he sighed in relief and sagged into Steven’s hold; pulling him tightly to his chest.

                “Then focus yourself, Stevie,” he said, “focus on only mine.” He paused trying to think of a way to focus Steven’s concentration and block out the noise. “Pretend… pretend you’re an island in a storm. Let the noise and all the other voices flow around you. Can you do that?” Steven nodded and closed his eyes. “Okay, good! Now focus on the wind. There are voices on the wind, and you hear them, but focus on one; focus on mine!”

Steven screwed his eyes shut and focused on the storm in his mind. All the voices were disjointed and overlapping, but over the half conversations, he could hear a single voice saying his name over and over.

                ‘ _Focus on my voice, Stevie,’_ it said _, ‘focus on my voice. It’s okay, Steven. It’s gonna be okay.’_ The voice became clearer and the others dimmed in volume until they were a soft background to Bucky’s voice. Steven smiled and felt tears run down his face in relief. In his mind’s eye he could see Bucky standing in a dark space that had no beginning or end. He was dressed in his uniform and looked haggard but happy. He saw Steven and smiled bright. Steven reached out and wrapped his arms around the form of his Ada. Almost instantly he saw memories that were not his own; memories that were from before he was born. Steven gasped, when he saw through his Ada’s eyes Falsworth holding a newborn baby and smiling.

Bucky smiled and Steven’s eyes flew open. He looked up at his Ada with shock and joy. Bucky grinned and pulled Steven close.

                “Buck,” Steve said softly, “what just happened?” Bucky grinned down at his son then looked back up at Steve with tears in his eyes.

                “He’s a Telepath, Steve,” he answered, “He could hear our thoughts. It was just comin’ in all at once, and he couldn’t block it out.” Steve and the Commandoes stared at the boy in shock, and Bucky quickly gathered Steven up into his arms to carry him to the medic tent; where Stark and the rest of command were.

Bucky sat Steven down on a medical table and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He held Steven close for a moment before he turned around. When he did, he found Stark standing behind him with Steve. Steve had on his classic ‘I am worried’ look that made Bucky grin. Stark smirked and set about examining Steven.

~*~***~~~

* * *

 

Stark shooed Steve and Bucky away from the exam table while he talked to Steven and went over the basics of a physical. By the time he was done, Stark was tight lipped, pale, and completely out of his depth. He motioned the Commandoes and Steve over, and waited for Peggy and Col Philips to make themselves comfortable, before making his conclusions.

                “Steven’s a Mutant,” he said, cutting right to the heart of the matter at hand. He took a calming breath and smirked on the exhale. “He has multiple abilities, all of which are more powerful than I could have ever imagined any one person having. He’s a Class five, maybe. Heck, we might even have to rewrite the book on classifying them, thanks to Steven.” Steven blushed and looked up at Bucky, who was in complete shock. As soon as the shock faded, pride and love could be seen in his smile.

                “So far,” Stark continued, “I’ve been able to peg him with at least five abilities: Telekinesis, and Telepathy, being the most obvious ones.”

                “But what about that lightning thing,” Morita asked, “The kid absorbed a full charge from a HYDRA weapon like it didn’t even faze him, and threw electricity from his hands.” Stark opened and closed his mouth for a moment, before giving a begrudging smile to the man.

                “Yeah that,” he said with tight smile. He looked down at his notes then up to the expectant crowd, “I’m not sure, but I think Steven has Electrokinesis: the ability to absorb, control and manipulate vast amounts of energy. Essentially, Steven is like a giant superconductor; he can take on large amperages of electricity and use it like we saw today. It is pretty darn rare, and combined with his ability to control and manipulate matter, it can be incredibly powerful.” Stark paused to take stock of the people listening.

Steve was stunned, as if he couldn’t believe the little boy he had held at birth was so powerful. Bucky was in awe, but there was a ting of pride and fear on his face as well. The rest of the Commandoes were all in varying states of shock and awe, and the command staff was stunned. Stark took a fortifying breath before he dropped the last bomb on them.

“That’s not even the best part,” he said with a sarcastic grin and chuckle then sobered, “his talent with tech is what is called Technokinesis, or Technopathy; depending on who you ask. It means he can control and manipulate any form of technology, whether it is mechanical or electronic based. Then there is his healing ability; even more rare. Put it all together and, well… you get someone whose power level is off the charts.”

Bucky gulped hard and looked at his son. Steven looked pale but was shyly smiling. Bucky fortified himself before he told them something he discovered some time ago.

                “He’s strong, too,” he said and looked up to find the startled looks on his friend’s faces directed at him. He licked his lips nervously and plowed onwards. “And fast. I don’t know if it’s… because his father is an elf, and I’m half Numenorean, or…” Bucky paled and felt his throat close; preventing him from finishing that thought.

Steve wrapped an encouraging arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and tugged him into his side. Steve’s warmth seeped into Bucky’s clothes and he felt his tension melt away. Stark took pity on the rattled Sergeant, and took the laser like attention of the top Brass off him by dropping the last bombshell.

                “Steven’s intelligence is also off the charts,” he said, “he’s as smart as me, at least! I give him problems that sometimes give me trouble and he makes it look easy!” a slight bit of childish petulance crept into Stark’s voice, and Steven giggled. Steve chuckled himself and Bucky found himself giggling hysterically; soon the whole unit was laughing at Stark’s expense. The laughter broke up the tension in the room and helped ease Bucky’s anxiety over the situation.

Steven looked at his Ada and Uncle Steve, both clinging to each other like lost and frightened children, and not the battle hardened soldiers he knew them to be. Steven thought for a moment and looked up at all the faces of the people in the room; all of whom where there to ensure his health and wellbeing. Steven found himself thinking about how his gifts could be useful, and could help protect his Ada from ever getting hurt like Falsworth had been a few days before. Steven hardened his resolve and looked up at all the people, as he made a vow to keep them safe however he could.

                “Ada,” he said, and Bucky looked at his boy. He saw the resolve on Steven’s face and he found himself in a case of Déjà vu, the image of his son overlaid with a younger and smaller Steve Rogers; their expressions matching so eerily, it made gooseflesh spring up on his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “I wanna help you, and Uncle Steve, stop those bullies from hurting anyone else ever again.”

The statement is so eerily like what Steve had said to him in the past, Bucky choked on his tongue for a second. He feels his face pale, and he worried for the first time what would happen to his son, what he was going to do when he was grown. Steven was almost a teenager, and would soon reach the dreaded puberty years, that would shoot him up to as tall as his Ada, and as strong as Steve. Bucky didn’t want his boy to be a soldier, but the look on Steven’s face told him he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Bucky sagged in defeat, and looked at his son with despair.

                “Grow a little more, kiddo,” he said weakly and laughed, “Then we’ll talk.” Steven smiled and looked as Steve, for confirmation. Steve felt out of his depth with the amount of responsibility being thrust upon him at the moment, but gathered that mask of strength and will, before answering the silent question.

                “Listen to Buck, Steven,” he said, “but I think, personally, that you would make a great intelligence analyst.” Steven drooped a little bit, and Bucky knew, without a doubt, that Steven would never settle for anything less than being a Soldier like himself, and Steve.

                ‘ _He won’t be a desk jockey, breaking codes. Steven won’t settle for anything less than being beside me and Steve.’_ The thoughts came with bitterness and sorrow, but also hope. Hope that if Steven was placed in with the Howling Commandoes, they would be able to keep him safe from all danger; from without and within. ‘ _He’s my brave little Knight. So loyal and honest, courageous and noble; he’s just like his father. He will be Steve’s Knight; his loyal vassal. He has the chivalry and goodness in his heart to protect the weak, and afraid, just like Steve. Steve is the Captain, and Steven will be his Knight.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN/: hope you like this chapter. From this point on, a lot of the chapters will be shorter, (hopefully) and will cross into some other stuff I have written of the same universe. In two chapters, we’ll get to see Arion again, and crossover into more Silmarillion type stuff. (if you know anything about it, you'll get it, if not, look some stuff up, but otherwise just trust my expertise on the subject. I know more than I probably should.)  
> Half way! Yahoo!! XD, more romance and drama to come, but I needed to get that character development out of the way. Later we get to see some of Bucky’s latent gifts explored.


	10. A Knight is Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven becomes an officer, and Bucky trains his first student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an interlude chapter. Lots of character development here. Not many scenes, but lots of narration. Important stuff, so please read and review.  
> as I said before, I have no beta, and please point out my word errors, until then. I don’t type well.   
> Well then, onto the fic.

Over the next few days and the intervening week, Steven showed the officers and command of the SSR just how smart and skilled Steven really was. If a book was put in front of him, he would read it cover to cover, and would be able to recite whole passages verbatim from memory. Bucky couldn’t be more proud of his boy, but like any parent watching their child grow up before their eyes, Bucky felt a sense of despair and loss over how to handle the unprecedented growth and development of his son. Steven grew at such an astounding rate, that Bucky spent every waking moment he could with his son, so as to not miss anything.

The accelerated growth was not without its drawbacks though. Steven had terrible growing pains that left him aching and unable to move from bed for hours. Bucky would sit patiently by his side, holding his hand and stroking his head, when Steven curled up on himself and groaned with pain; tears leaking out of his eyes as he gripped his Ada’s hand in a vice like grip to ground himself from the pain.

The pain only came at certain points of the day, and was manageable; so when Steven was pain free and not eating like a starving man, he was at his new desk in Howard’s lab learning his basic education: reading, writing, arithmetic, history and sciences. Steven loved learning about electronics and begged Howard to show him more in his more advanced sessions. Let me tell you, Howard may be a hard and cold scientist at times but Steven’s big blue eyes and yearning face made him all gooey and turned his signature iron spine to soft lead. Stark caved and told him later. Steven grinned like he had just won a major victory and went back to his books.

The largest contributor in the genre of books besides, math and science, were the large tomes of strategy and tactics piled high on the desk. Steve grinned at the boy’s enthusiasm and gave up a few of his own books to add to the ever growing pile. One day after a long debriefing, Steve and Bucky went to the lab to check in on Steven’s progress. Howard was in full professor mode, talking about engineering and electronics, while his scrawling penmanship on the black board showed advanced equations in the latest breakthroughs in physics. Bucky looked at the board and glanced over Steven’s shoulder to peek at his notes, and sure enough, the equations were there along with other notes from earlier in the lesson.

Bucky smiled over at Steve, who flashed a quick smile at Bucky’s obvious pride over his son’s blatant display of genius. Steve picked up an earlier notebook and found Steven’s penmanship lessons, and notes on the history of combat. Steve’s smile turned soft, as he remembered his own obsession on the topic when he was far younger and smaller. A flash of red caught his eye and Steve put down the notebook. When he brought it up for inspection, he was surprised to see Chinese characters embossed in gold leaf on the front. The leather was dark red, almost blood red in color, and contrasted so sharply with the flickering gold. Steve looked at the book and then the English title, raising his eyebrow in curiosity.

                “Hey, Howard,” he said and raised the book up for the inventor to see. “What’s this?” Howard looked up from his lesson and to the book in Steve’s hand.

                “Oh,” he said in realization. “That’s Sun Tzu, the Art of War. Great book of strategy and warfare; I thought Steven might benefit from reading it. It might help you too, Cap. It’s got some real insightful learning on battle tactics.” Steve looked back down at the book in his hand before opening it up to a random page and reading over the quotes and philosophical messages on war. Steve found it interesting and helpful, before he placed it back down; this time on the very top of Steven’s stack of books.

                “Have him read this first,” he said, “If he is going to be in this war, and an officer, he’ll need to learn good battle tactics.” At this Steven’s head whipped around and gaped at him with wide eyes and awe. Even Bucky was shocked to silence, before the pride and love for his son made him beam like a star as he smiled.

                “Really,” Steven asked, “An Officer? They want me to be an Officer?” Steve grinned and nodded.

                “Your tests scores keep showin’ ‘em how smart you are,” he answered, “and I know a few people who’ll pull some strings to get you the officer’s exam, but you’ve got to study hard, and learn a lot more before you can take that test. And before that you’ve got to take combat training, and a whole lot of other training if you wanna be a Howling Commando.” At the mention of Steve’s elite unit, Steven’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, before a wide grin took its place and Steven turned back to his books to study even harder.

Bucky walked up to Steve and pulled him aside to talk in hushed tones.

                “You really gonna get him transferred to our squad, Steve,” he asked dubiously. “Do you think that will go over well? A rooky officer being placed right into the top commando unit in the allied armies; it might make some people mad, Steve, or worse, curious.” Steve held up his hand and stopped Bucky from continuing.

                “I know you want to protect him, Bucky” he said, “but the best way we can keep an eye on him and take care of him is if he is with us.”

                “I just don’t know if he can handle it,” Bucky said and glanced over at his son. “That’s a lot of pressure to be putting on a kid who’s not even a month old.”

                “Bucky,” Steve said determinedly, “I’ve seen Steven’s test scores, and they’re off the charts!” Bucky’s eyes widened and Steve continued. “He’s smart, Buck; really smart; as smart as Howard, maybe even as smart as that Einstein fellow, if not smarter. If we make him an enlisted soldier, and put him in just any unit, they won’t be able to handle him. He’s as willful as you can be and a lot smarter than some officers in the higher ups.” Bucky nodded but still was unconvinced, so Steve plowed on. “Then there is his diet we have to think about. If we stick him in with a regular unit, with regular army rationing, he won’t last a week before he ends up in the infirmary from malnutrition. His metabolism is on par with mine. He needs the extra rations that he won’t get from a regular unit. With us, we can ensure he is given all that he needs and he will be close enough that you can keep him safe.”

Bucky’s shoulders drooped further and further, the more Steve talked, before he finally realized that Steve was right. As much as it pained him, and as dangerous as their missions were at times, it was safer for Steven to be a member of the Howling Commandoes, than in some regular infantry unit. But just because Steve was right, didn’t mean that Bucky was going to concede to him that easily. He huffed out a breath and glared up at Steve. Steve just folded his arms across his chest, and planted himself just like he always did before a fight. The two stared each other down, before Bucky sighed and glanced away.

                “Fine,” he ground out, before he turned the full force of his glare back at Steve. “But he had better be fully prepared to fight these guys, Steve. I’m not letting my only child go out there on only minimal training. You train him, in hand to hand, and the rest of us give him the rest of his rounding out for combat readiness training.”

                “Actually,” Steve said with a victorious smirk, “I was thinking you should give him that training, seeing as my style of fighting is more tailored around the shield, and you do more of that. If you teach him knife fighting and shooting, I have no doubt that he will be the best Lieutenant this Army has to offer.” Bucky glared at Steve. He was caught and he knew it, but Bucky Barnes never gives up without one last jab.

                “Fine!” he said “but you’re still teaching him how to fight, Steve. You’re the only one strong enough to really test him.” Steve nodded, but wore the triumph on his face proudly.

~*~*~***~~~

* * *

 

Boot camp

It was well and truly official: Steven was going to join the Army and become an officer. It scared the crap out of Bucky but he loved his son enough to know not to discourage him. Steven was safer with the Commandoes and Steve. With them he could be himself, and not lie to the people who would have to trust him with their lives. Steven was determined to pass the officer’s exam on the second of March, which was two days away, so Bucky and the commandoes took it upon themselves to train him. And that meant Boot Camp.

For Bucky and the others, boot camp was months of physical and mental hell that helped them become the hardened and capable soldiers they were. For Steve, it was a one week crash course on the very basics of army regs and combat, but even after that he had taken courses after the serum to train him further, even if he felt them to be all in vain when he went on the USO tour. Steven had the hardest and most difficult of all of them: he had two days to become combat ready, and know everything about being a soldier and an officer during a time of War. To make it easier on the boy, they broke down his training into parts. The first was basic weapon maintenance and readiness. The second was physical combat, i.e. fighting hand to hand. Last but not least, was combat and arms training; knife or bayonet fighting, and marksmanship.

Steve took over the physical part of Steven’s training right off the bat, with Bucky giving suggestions from the side lines, as a second coach. The covered the basics first, stance, foot work, and arm placement, then moved into more complicated fighting that only Steve could show and demonstrate to Steven, being the only one strong enough to handle him in a fight.

For the first few hours Steven hand his hat handed to him time after time by both Bucky and Steve, as the drilled and re-drilled the techniques into Steven’s muscle memory, then Steven started to get the hang of the moves and basic techniques. When that happened, he began to hold his own against Bucky’s superior knowledge and skill. Once he finally laid Bucky flat on his back, Steven graduated to solely fighting Steve and learning more and more complicated fighting moves and combos that his learning mind absorbed like a sponge. The drills lasted for hours until Steven began to hold his ground against Steve, and even get in a few lucky shots under his defenses.

When the defensive and offensive combat finished, both Steve and Bucky were panting and sweating, one more than the other, and were sore but had grins of triumph on their faces as Steven panted in front of them; his head between his knees and his hands braced on his thighs for support. The boy’s lanky frame was tall and slowly but surely filling in with muscle, and his shoulders heaved as he took deep gulping breaths to come down from his battle rush. If Steve didn’t know better, he would have thought him to be just another green recruit, barely 18 years-old and fresh out of high school. But Steve did know better, and so did Bucky. Steven was growing; even sense that morning, Steven’s clothes, which had hung baggy on his frame, were now tighter, and more fitting than before. His broad shoulders, that had been boney and gangly, were now filling in with hard muscle before their eyes.

Bucky stood up and took a good look at his son. Gone was the gangly, coltishness of puberty and adolescents, replaced slowly but surely by the broad roundness of maturity and manhood. The awkwardness was gone as well, and the graceless stumbling with it, replaced by sure footedness and an unnatural grace and poise that Bucky knew came from Steven’s father. As Steven grew, he resembled Bucky even more but held onto that refined quality that drew Bucky to his father. Steven looked, in many ways, more like Steve physically, by build then Bucky. They both had the look of Greek Olympians from the ancient days, with long legs made for running and a powerful form for fighting; only Steven’s was still developing.

Bucky smiled at his son, with his hands on his hips. Steven looked up at his Ada and saw the proud smile and grinned back. Steven stood up to his full height and Bucky saw that his clothes were getting to the point of too short. Steven was just shy of eye level with Bucky and he knew that his son might be taller than him soon. Bucky’s nearly 6’ frame would soon be over shadowed by his son, and he didn’t even mind. Tenderness and lover leached into his smile without even his meaning to, and Steven looked at him curiously.

                “What,” he asked with a confused grin and laugh. Bucky pulled Steven into his arms and tucked his chin next to his ear. He pressed a kiss to the delicate point and whispered softly into his ear.

                “I’m so proud of you, Stevie,” he whispered, and Steven pulled him closer, burying his head by Bucky’s jaw line. “I love you so much. Never doubt that, Stevie. Never doubt that I love you, and I am proud of you, because I am. I may not always show it, but this is the truth. You are my first born, and will have a special place in my heart.” Steven gave Bucky one final squeeze before he pulled away, his eyes suspiciously red and misty.

                “I love you too, Ada,” he said back and grinned. At the sound of a discrete cough, they looked over at Steve, who had a knowing smile on his face but wasn’t looking at them. Bucky laughed and coughed nervously as he cleared his throat and wiped away the remnants of the tears in his eyes and on his face.

                “Well, um,” he said and cleared his throat, “we oughta get you some new digs before you split the seams on those things.” Steven smiled sheepishly down on his clothes and nervously laughed.

                “Yeah, oh” he chuckled, “right.”

~*~***~~~

* * *

Once Steven was reequipped with looser clothes, Bucky and Steve took the growing boy out to the range to drill with Weapons. Bucky had Steven strip the rifles he would be using and put them back together over and over until he had learned it so well that he could field strip the guns and reassemble them with a blindfold. Then they tested his powers on the weapons. Steven learned that his control over technology extended to mechanical as well as electrical. Thus, Steven learned the ins and outs of all the weapons he would be handling; learning how the pistols worked and how the rifles worked and how to disable them with a thought, or take them apart with a simple gesture.

It was tantamount to watching magic, as Steven, arm thrown out toward a rifle in Dugan’s hands, drew his arm back like he was pulling an invisible string, hand open, and the gun dismantled itself piece by piece, and was drawn to Steven’s outstretched left arm. The gun reassembled in Steven’s grasp, every piece lining up perfectly to Steven’s rifle stance and posture. Dugan looked down at his hands where the gun had been, and then up to Steven, who was holding the rifle perfectly in his hands, finger just off the trigger. The expression of dumbfounded shock made a grin break out across Steven’s face and Bucky to throw his head back in deep bellied laughter.

Giggles and chuckles erupted from all the spectators at Dugan’s expression of shock and soon the whole unit was laughing and holding their sides to keep in the mirth. Dugan let out a snort and laughed himself, after realizing what a fool he made: gaping like a fish at Steven’s display of skill, when he knew how powerful the boy was.

                “Damn, Kid!” he chuckled, “I knew you had skills, but I didn’t think you were a glorified Merlin!” Steven let out a deep bellied laugh, and the rest of the Commandoes followed suit.

                “I doubt even Merlin had such skills as our young Steven,” Falsworth laughed. The boy in question grinned, and the Commandoes could see Bucky behind that smile; the crooked, cocky, so sure smile that Bucky perfected on the streets of Brooklyn long before Steven was born. Steven’s cloths were filling out again, and they knew that before the end of the day Steven was going to need a new set, again.

The training continued and once they were sure that Steven was proficient with the weapons given to him the moved for a rest to start the last part of his training the next day. It was going to take the longest, because it had most of the important things a Soldier needed to know in combat: evasion, knife fighting, and weapon accuracy; meaning Bucky was going to play drill Sergeant for the day while Steve played instructor.

Steven was a natural with a blade in hand, and fought like a dancer; wreaking a graceful dance of death as he slashed parried and thrusted, countering Bucky’s moves without conscious thought. Bucky was brutal in his ferocity and taught Steven his brutal efficiency. Steven learned to keep moving and pulling away from certain moves only to dart back in to attack on others, and with this fighting style in place Bucky laid the groundwork for Steven to be the best and most skilled fighter on the team besides Steve.

Bucky sat Steven down and taught him the importance of patience and calm whilst in battle. Steven laid belly down on the grass counting his breaths, and not squeezing off a round until he had reached 100. When Steven’s hands shook, and he missed on the first try, Bucky pulled him up and taught him a technique that had served him well.

                “It’s called the empty lung technique, Steven,” he said as Steven looked down the sights of the rifle again, preparing for another try. “Essentially you just breathe normally, but once you got the target in sight, you breathe out, count to three and fire on two. It might help with your nerves throwing you off. Come on, let’s try it.” Bucky helped Steven line up the shot again, but this time once Steven had the target in his cross hairs, he kept his breathing normal, and on an exhale he waited a beat then fired before drawing in a breath. The shot hit right through the dead center on the target, and Bucky let out a low whistle, a grin pulling on his lips, as he sighted the paper target down his binoculars.

Steven looked up at his Ada, but didn’t leave the prone position he held on the ground. A grin pulled on his lips as Bucky lowered his binoculars and turned an impressed smile on his son.

                “Did I do good?” Steven asked.

                “Not bad,” Bucky answered, and Steven grinned even wider. “Just remember, Steven: these are paper targets, they’re a lot different from the real thing. For one, the real ones shoot back, and don’t give ya much chance to line up a perfect shot. So we’re gonna work on yer speed as well as accuracy, okay?” Steven nodded and Bucky clapped him on the shoulder in comradely. “Chamber another round in, and we’ll do it again; let’s see how many targets you can shoot down on one breath next.”

They drilled and worked on Steve’s sniping skills for a few more hours, until Bucky had declared him good enough to substitute him, in a pinch, if needs be. Pistol shooting was where Steven really showed his colors. Steven should shoot an automatic just as well as any of the team, and his weapon of choice was the same as his Ada: a Thomson M1928A1 Auto-rifle; as deadly as any weapon in his hands. But Steven’s real talent was with the hand guns. He could fire any pistol with deadly accuracy at the maximum range of the gun, and he could fire with either hand, sometimes using a gun in each hand, just to prove he could do it and do it well. His pistol of choice was the same as Steve’s: a pair of Colt .45 M1911A1’s, with a special 9 round magazine, and Steven always put an extra in the chamber.

Both Steve and Bucky were impressed by the speed and accuracy Steven had with his hand guns that Steve cracked a joke about him being as good as Peggy. The response it elected from the rest of the Commandoes, especially Bucky, got Steven laughing; knowing that there was a story there that Steve would eventually tell.

By the end of the day, Steven and the Commandoes were thoroughly tired, and Bucky and Steve had deemed Steven as ready as he would ever be for the test the next day. Steven peeled himself out of the clothes he was given and collapsed into bed, with a long groan. Bucky smirked at Steven’s antics before he stripped down himself and flopped into bed. He moaned in relief when he settled into the cot, letting himself relax for the first time since lunch, before he drifted off to sleep with the prayer that Steven would pass the test ahead with flying colors.

* * *

 

Exams

Bucky circuited around the room in front of the door for what felt like the hundredth time since he stood up. Steve smirked up at him from his seat in the chair by the door. His shoulders were hunched, and his forearms were braced on his legs, with his hands clasped between his knees. He looked the picture of a patient but still nervous man. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like an expectant father pacing the room waiting for the news. All that he was missing was the cloud of smoke from chain smoking; as he turned on his heal again for another pass. Steve let out a huff of laughter as he straightened his back and looked at his friend.

                “You know, you’re gonna wear a grove in the floor, if ya keep pacin’ like that, Buck,” he said calmly. Bucky stopped his circuit and fisted his hands in his hair, making it stick in all directions. Steve laughed at Bucky’s rumpled state of distress for a moment; before Bucky ran his hands through his hair and straightened it back out. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous. Bucky, he’ll do fine. You know he will. That pacin’ is only workin’ you into a tizzy, so sit yer butt down in this chair, and take a breath.” Bucky plopped himself in the Chair on Steve’s left, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned against the wall. The stillness lasted a grand total of 30 seconds before Bucky’s leg started to jiggle up and down with nervousness.

Steve snorted and leaned back to look at his friend. Bucky’s lips were thinned and his nervous leg bouncing caused a light squeak from the sole of his shoe on the hard polished floor. He was leaned back against the wall and his head was thrown back as he stared at anything but the clock on the wall opposite the door. The clock ha a loud tick tock sound for every second past and it made Bucky hunch in on himself and bite his lip in his anxiousness to get the clock to move faster. Steve smirked and kept his eyes on Bucky’s face until the sniper finally acknowledged his presence. Steve’s smirk brought a glare from the older man, which simply said “what the hell do you think you’re looking at”. Steve raked his gaze up and down Bucky’s tense form, and Bucky sheepishly uncurled his shoulders and arms. The hands grasped at the edges of the chair, and Steve could see Bucky’s misery writ in every line on his face and body. Steve took pity on his friend and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. A gentle shake caused a small smile to pull at his lips and relax his face and form.

                “He’ll do fine,” Steve said firmly but calmly, and Bucky nodded as he swallowed his nervous jitters.

                “Yeah,” he sighed, “yeah. He’ll do fine. I just… wish I… could be there with him. Be there for him, and not our here.” Steve cocked an eyebrow and huffed out a laugh.

                “Bucky,” he said with a grin, “you _are_ here for him. You were, just seconds ago, pacing a hole into the floor because you were so nervous for him. You’ve done everything you were capable of to prepare him for this. You’ve done more than enough to get him ready for this than even my own trainers. He’ll be fine.” Bucky relaxed under Steve’s reassurances and slumped back into the chair, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. He slowly breathed in and out, in calming meditation to quiet his nervous mind.

Steve smiled and pulled his hand away from Bucky’s shoulder, when the door opened. Both Bucky and Steve sat up straight in their seats and looked over anxiously at the instructor that has stepped out of the room. The thin bookish man looked at the two burly soldier’s and gave them a nervous smile, realizing that they must be the testee’s friends or family. He recognized Steve instantly and gulped down a nervous chuckle. He walked to stand in front of the two men and pulled back his shoulders to gather his courage.

                “You must be here for Steven,” he said, and they nodded. “I haven’t told him his results yet, but I think you two might want to tell him instead.” He paused and the two leaned forward anxiously. “He passed, with flying colors.” Bucky and Steve leapt to their feet and embraced each other in bone crushing hugs, laughter and joy brightening their faces and making them youthful again. Steve pulled away first and ruffled Bucky’s hair in a playful gesture. “He had the best marks I have ever seen. He’s the top of his class, by far. You should both be very proud of him.” Bucky’s grin turned luminous when he heard this and he started laughing with joy.

                “Oh, believe me, sir,” he said to the man, “I am! I’m very, very proud!” the instructor smiled and beat a hasty retreat from the pair as they entered the room to give Steven the good news.

Steven was ecstatic. His joy knew no bounds, and he pulled his Ada and Steve into a big hug. Bucky hid his tears of pride in his son’s hair as he kissed his ear and whispered words of love and praise to him.

                “See, Buck,” Steve said once they pulled away from him, “I told you he would do great. After all he had the best teacher anyone could have ever asked for.”

~**~~**

* * *

 

Commissioning

The commissioning ceremony took place that afternoon, in the SSR headquarters in London. Steven was given a finely pressed and tailored uniform, fit perfectly to his broad shoulders with room to spare in the chest and arms for his developing muscles. It was to be the last uniform he would ever be given from the Quartermaster until his promotion. The double breasted pockets with brass buttons shone proudly on his chest, with the long row of buttons keeping the jacket shut. The belt around his waist drew attention to his trim and well cut figure, while the pins on his collar sat flat on his collar bones depicting the SSR crest and the US pins sat above them. On his left breast was a paratrooper pin, and on the flap of his left pocket was his infantry pin. Steven took a deep breath and looked at all his friends and family attending. They were all in their dress bests and each and every pin and button was shined to a brilliant finish. There were proud smiles on all their faces, and Steven even saw tears in his Ada’s eyes as he tugged the hem of his jacket to flatten out the fabric on his chest.

The cap on his head sat slightly askew but not enough for reprimand, as the Colonel entered the control room.

                “Attention!” he bellowed and all the men and women in the room stood ramrod straight heels clicking in unison as they stood at attention. Steven did the same out of a kneejerk reaction drilled into him by Dugan and his Ada the first day of training; his shoulders pulling back and his head up, eyes forward as his new CO approached. “At ease!” he said loudly and everyone went into parade rest, feet shoulder length apart and arms clasped behind their backs. Steven stayed at attention because Steve told him that this part would require him to be at attention. The Colonel turned to him with a smirk and motioned an aid forward.

In the aid’s hands was a simple black velvet box, with gold seams. The box was opened and inside was a pair of gold bar pins no more than an inch long and not very wide. They were second lieutenant bars and Steven felt himself puff up a little with pride in knowing that he had earned them.

                “Cadet Buchanan,” he stared and Steven squared his shoulders in preparation. “you have shown all the qualities and capabilities of becoming a fine officer in this United States Army, and having passed all your classes and training with exemplary form it is my duty and honor, to be the one to present you with these bars and swear you in to oath your duties as an officer in the United States Army on this day, of March the 2nd, 1944.” The Colonel took the pins out of the case and pinned them to his shoulder epaulets. Once pinned the older man took the bible from the Corporal’s waiting hands. “Please place you left hand on the cover and raise your right hand.” Steven did so accordingly, knowing in his heart that he was about to make an oath to God. He had made right with God the day he found out about his abilities, and was baptized in a washtub in Howard’s lab by the Army chaplain.

                “Now, repeat after me,” Philips ordered. “‘I’ you full name…”

                “I, Steven Grant Buchanan,” Steven parroted back.

                “Having been appointed an officer in the Army of the United States…”Philips prompted.

                “Having been appointed an officer in the Army of the United States…” Steven parroted.

                “As indicated above in the grade of second Lieutenant,” he said, and Steven repeated before Philips continued, “do solemnly swear…” Steven parroted this back, and then continued to repeat Philips.

                “That I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States… Against all enemies, foreign or domestic… that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same… that I take this obligation freely… without any mental reservations or purpose of evasion… and that I will well and faithfully discharge… the duties of the office… upon which I am about to enter…”

                “So help me God,” Philips said.

                “So help me God,” Steven repeated. Colonel Philips smiled as Steven took his hand off the Bible and stood at attention.

                “Congratulations, Lieutenant,” he said and held out his hand. Steven grasped it and gave it a firm shake. When the man let go, Philips stepped back and pulled himself into attention before giving Steven a salute. Steven straightened and saluted him back. Philips dropped the salute, turned on his heel, facing the crowd, before he bellowed out “Company, Dismissed!” the group saluted before Steve and Bucky went up to meet Steven half way off the platform.

Bucky pulled up and proudly gave Steven a salute, and Steven gave him one back, before he pulled his Ada into a big hug.

                “2nd Lt. Buchanan,” he said and Steven grinned, “I never thought I’d get to see this day. I am so proud of you, Stevie.” Steven buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder. He pulled away and looked back to the Colonel with a grin.

                “Colonel Philips, Sir,” he said, “I’d like to make a formal request that my first assignment be with Captain Rogers unit.” Philips huffed out a small laugh.

                “Put it in writing, Lt,” he said, “and I’ll see what I can do. Odds are that you’ll get put with him anyway, but it never hurts to make an official request.”

Steven grinned and went to make his request official. Sure enough, the very next day Steven received his orders to report to his Commanding Officer, Captain Steven G. Rogers, for orders as his US Army Lt and second in Command of the Howling Commandoes, behind Major Falsworth. Bucky gave Steven a look that could make the most hardened soldiers quiver, before he marched right up to his son, forced him to attention, and pointed in finger at his chest.

                “Steven, I love you,” he said, “I will always love you, and just because you are a Lieutenant doesn’t make you any less my son.” Steven nodded quickly. “So you are to follow my orders to the letter, you are gonna give me a ‘Yes sir’ and, when I say yer to stay behind, yer not gonna argue with me, is that clear?” Steven nodded rapidly.

                “Yes sir, Serge; crystal!” Bucky nodded sharply, and let out a relieved breath.

                “Good,” he said, “now let’s get this show movin’.” Steve smirked at the whole proceedings but pulled to two aside before he started the briefing.

                “Steven,” he asked, “what did the docs say about your growth and aging?” Bucky looked over at his son and searched his face for signs of age. Steven smirked.

                “They said that I am fully matured, physically at least, and that the rapid aging and growth has stopped,” he answered. “They don’t know why.  But I think it might have something to do with me being Half-Elvish, and that their growth and aging stops at physical maturity.” Bucky let out a sigh of relief at hearing this, immensely glad that he would not out live his child by natural means.

                “That’s good,” Steve said, “one less thing to worry about. Let’s get this briefing started, so Dugan doesn’t start another altercation with Monty because he’s bored.” Steven snickered and Bucky stifled a snort, before turning back to the briefing table and their latest mission.

Dugan looked up at the kid with a grin. Steve and Bucky smiled with sympathy, knowing Dugan was going to do a little bit of hazing.

                “So,” he started with a grin, “you got your codename yet.”

                “Codename?” Steven asked confused.

                “Yeah,” Morita said, “it’s like a call-sign we use over the radios. We all got one; even your Pop’s got one. So what’s yours?” Steven thought for a minute, his face scrunched up in concentration, before a peaceful smile bloomed across his face.

                “Just call me Knight.”

TBC…

AN: Well that’s it for the moment. Next comes a time jump. I don’t know how much time has passed just that it is before D-Day. There’s going to be some romance coming up for our beloved Sergeant. 80,000 words and climbing, and if you’ve made it this far, I can tell you it is about half way done.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer than I thought.  
> you'll be getting into the really fun stuff in a bit.  
> Chapter 14 written and really short so don't be disappointed. it's only one scene.  
> please review, i don't know if you like it or not if you don't review.  
> Kudos if you do like.


	11. Rescue and Recovery - the Horrors of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time jump here  
> this chapter has mentions or alludes to the Holocaust and the Crimes of Nazism during the Second world War. not for readers under 13,  
> Viewer discretion is advised.  
> Steven is promoted, and the Commandoes go on a rescue and recovery mission.  
> Steve sees the true horrors of war and what the Nazis really stood for. he kinds looses his shit, but he has his reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Time jump here. I don’t know how long, just long enough for Steven to get noticed by command. I need a beta, please someone Beta me!

“Congratulations, Lt. Buchanan,” the Colonel said as he shook his hand. Steven beamed with pride. He had just been promoted to first Lieutenant, and he couldn’t be happier.

Over the last few months since his commission at the rank of second Lieutenant, Steven had catapulted onto the notice of not only the SSR army command, but the command of the regular Allied forces. Rumors had begun to spread of a new member of the colloquially dubbed Howling Commandoes that could do things that defied reality. Some had just brushed the initial reports off as exaggeration or storytelling, but others thought there must be some kernel of truth behind the myths; that there was really an extraordinary young man in the Commandoes with skills to rival those of Captain Rogers. The reality was far more unbelievable than even the Allied forces could imagine, and Steven dropped onto the radar of most influential and powerful men in Europe; the result being that Steven was catapulted ahead of the line for promotion to a full Lieutenant, with the promise of the rank of Captain at the end of the year, along with his own unit. Steven wanted to wait until he had the experience under Steve before he took on that role.

                “Congrats, Kid!” Dugan laughed as he slapped Steven on the back. Steven stumbled forward under the blow, not expecting it. Steven looked over his shoulder and found the whole Howling Commandoes gathered with proud grins. Steven grinned at them all, and at Bucky most of all, as he came forward.

                “Good job, Stevie,” he said as he enveloped him in a proud hug. “You did good.” Steven melted into the embrace of his Ada, breathing in all the warmth and love his Ada put in the embrace. Steven could have held on forever, but a distinct clearing of a throat, caused them to pull apart. The two of them turned to see who it was, and were pleasantly surprised. It was Steve. He was in his dress uniform, and had an indulgent smile on his face that said they all needed to get down to business.

                “Congratulations, Steven,” he said with a salute and then shake to the hand. Steven saluted back with a confident grin. “I can’t think of anyone more deserving of this honor than you. You did real good, Lieutenant. I’m proud of ya.” Steven soaked in the attention for a moment before Steve was all business. “And as much as I would love to take you guys all out for some celebratory drinking, we’ve just been handed a mission. Philips is going to brief us in a few minutes, so all yer keister’s had better be in seats by then.” Steven and the other groaned in slight despair, having just come back from a long run of blitz raids. Steve shrugged and motioned them to the briefing table.

Steven sat down beside Steve and Major Falsworth as one of the officers of the commandoes, and waited for Philips to begin. Philips entered the room followed by his aide, who carried a stack of thick dossiers. Philips sat down at the head of the table, and motioned his aide to start handing out the dossiers.

                “Captain,” he said gruffly, “you and your men’s next mission is twofold, but first and foremost this mission is a rescue recovery effort that will be collaborated with our Allies in British Intelligence. This is a joint effort on the parts of the US forces in the SSR and our British counterparts, so no funny stuff.” At this he gave Dugan and Jacques the stink eye, and the two sat a little bit straighter in their chairs. The colonel sniffed in satisfaction that he had gotten his point across and continued. “You will be joined on route by Major DuLake, who has been the major reason that this has even gotten off the ground.”

Falsworth sat up a little straighter at the mention of the name and finally opened his briefing packet. At the sight inside his jaw dropped open and his eyes widened in shock.

“Your mission,” Philips continued, “is to go deep into enemy controlled territory to rescue a captured British Lt. Col by the name of Fëanor Noldorean. He was captured some months ago during our Allied campaign in Italy, and up until this point we didn’t know where he was. Now we do and we’re going to get him out of there. If you will open your briefing packets you will see what we have to deal with here.”

 Steve and the others opened the dossier and finally saw what they were dealing with. It was a Death Camp, worse being that Steve had captured intelligence that this camp was experimenting on the prisoners. Steve took one look at the scout reconnaissance photos and instantly felt sick to his stomach. Steve turned the page to get a closer look at the Col they would be rescuing, and felt his jaw drop open a little as his eyes widened in shock. It was the very same Col Steve had seen months before, that he could have sworn was Avery’s twin. He had heard that the man had been captured shortly before his attempt to entertain the 107th after Azzano, but he had no idea that he and his team would be leading the charge to rescue the man.

Steve mentally gave himself a shake before skimming quickly through the dossier on the man. Steve felt his eyes widen further and further the more he read. Fëanor was a rising star in the British Army, and had been since his joining in the first War. He had a list of commendations and medals as long as Steve’s forearm and he had been catapulted from enlisted man to officer for his valor and innate leadership qualities. The man had been knighted and even given the title of Lordship by the last king. The man was a hero and had a rapport with the men he had been given command of, so it was no surprise that the British wanted their star soldier back. His capture had been tantamount to his own, to the English, and an insult to a proud Army.

                “Your second primary mission,” Philips said, after they had all read the packet for a moment, “is the extraction of an MI6 Operative codenamed Mírë, or Jewel. We don’t have a picture of the agent, but MI6 has given us a code phrase to use as confirmation that we have the right guy. Now we have a little background on him so just listen ’cause I’m only going to go through this once.” After a brief pause to ensure all the Commandoes were listening carefully, Philips continued the briefing. “Your contact is an undercover agent recruited by MI6 shortly after Brittan declared war with the Germans. He was a German native, or at least he was raised in Germany for a while, that was of the right age to enter the inner Circle of the Nazi party, and not be questioned. His mission was to infiltrate and gather intelligence on the movements of the inner Circle, and possible evidence to convict them after the end of the war. This was at a time when the War was thought to be ended before spring, and he was only supposed to be undercover for a few months. It been almost 5 years, boys. This guy has been leaking us Intel on the Germans for years, and it’s been good Intel too. In ’43 this guy stumbled onto HYDRA, quite literally, and was taken to the base in Krausberg. After it was blown sky high by Rogers here, he returned to his mission with the inner circle, but had given us more intelligence than we ever could have dreamed of finding from his little jaunt with our Enemy.

                “Their Operative contacted MI6 at the last intel drop with the message that he wanted out,” Philips said. Steve and the others glanced at Bucky, who had gotten whiter and whiter the more Philips talked, and he gave them a weak and trembling but reassuring smile. Philips raised his eye brow in question but let the matter drop. “This guy is done with his mission, and has faithfully continued a mission for years that should have been only months. I think it’s high time we give him the rest he needs. Your mission will require you to parachute into a clearing a mile from the base. You are to get in, get the Col and the Operative out before you’re all caught, and then join the rest of the army to liberate the base.”

                “Our hope,” Agent Carter said, “is that in the confusion of the battle, no one will suspect that the German Lt we’ve captured is really a spy being extracted.” Steve and the others nodded, but Steve kept an eye on Bucky out of the corner of his sight. “The extraction point is just to the south of the base in this grove of trees,” Peggy continued as she pointed at the map. “You will meet him and hopefully the captured Col there. The operative’s last drop said he would get the Col out of the base and to the extraction point for you. Your priority is to get the col back to your camp where he will get treated and sent back to England.” The men nod and look through the packet maps, memorizing the locations, before Peggy continued. “The main liberation force will consist of volunteers from other units and regiments from the Allied forces. There will be Russians, some French resistance men, as well as British, American and Canadian soldiers, all there to liberate this camp. Captain?” she said pointedly to Steve, and Steve looked up.

                “Yes, Ma’am,” he asked.

                “You will be put in command of this force, until the camp is cleared, and all the prisoners taken to a secure location for treatment. Once that is done you are to blow the camp and all the building surrounding it; factories, barracks, and all. We don’t want HYDRA or the Nazis to know we were so far into their territory,” Peggy explained. “It’ll be your job, Commandoes, to ensure that it looks like an accident, and for the Nazis to overlook it. Understood?”

                “Yes, ma’am!” they parroted back in unison with smiles. Jacques smile was particularly demented, because he was going to be doing what he did best: blow stuff up.

                “Alright then,” Philips barked, “you’re dismissed!”

Steve pulled Bucky aside and looked down at the folder he was clutching to his chest, before looking back up to his friend’s face with concern. Bucky smiled weakly, and looked over at his son still pouring over the maps and mission details and a look of apprehension came over his face. Steve followed his gaze to Steven and his resolve faltered. He wanted to get Bucky to talk about it but perhaps now wasn’t the time. Steve turned back to his friend with a brittle smile.

                “I’ll see you at the plane, Bucky,” he said and cracked a little more on the inside at Bucky’s look of pure gratefulness.

                “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll see ya.”

~*~***~~~

* * *

 

There pick-up was later that afternoon, at the air field. Steve and the commandoes had all gotten prepped and ready to meet their pilot, and the Lt. Col’s right hand man. Steve and Bucky spotted the man first, over by the plane talking to the pilot. The man was not what they had expected. His honey gold hair was longer than normal but pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was tall, and fair, with wide cheeks set high on his face. He had deep set eyes and a straight nose. He had a tapered jaw and strong chin. His lips looked like they would automatically set in a smile, but were thinned in a grim line and his brow furrowed with worry. In fact, his whole form radiated nervousness and concern.

Bucky glanced over at his friend, and Steve’s lips thinned. The Major was showing the same signs he had shown when he found out Bucky had been captured. But whereas Steve was able to rescue Bucky within hours of discovering it, the Major had known for months about his friend’s capture and had been unable to do anything about it; that is until now. The strain had taken its toll on the man, bringing premature age to his youthful face. Steve knew that if he’d had to wait to rescue Bucky he would have been just as much of a wreck as Major DuLake was right now.

The commandoes followed Steve and Bucky to stand beside the large bomber plane, where the two men were conversing.

                “It’ll be fine, Major,” the pilot said. “We’ll go over the drop zone, and before you know it, you’ll have Col Noldorean back in safe hands.” The Major let out a long breath and let go of some of his tension. The pilot smiled and looked up, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Steve grinned at the tall man and stepped forward to introduce himself and his team.

                “Commander,” he said with a salute, noticing that the man was a Navy Pilot and not air core like he had thought. The Commander returned his salute and shook Steve’s offered hand. “I’m Captain Rogers, but you probably already knew that.” The man’s grin was telling. “This is my team. These are my officers: Major James Montgomery Falsworth, British Royal Army, and Lt. Steven Grant Buchanan, US Army and my second with the SSR.” Steve pointed to Steven and Falsworth on his right, before he started introducing the rest of the commandoes one by one. “And on my left you’ll see, my demolition expert, and member of the French Resistance, Jacques Dernier,” Jacques waved with a smile. “Jim Morita, my communications officer and specialist,” Morita nodded and gave the Navy man a sharp grin. “Gabriel Jones, my linguist and translator,” Gabe smiled jovially and the Commander grinned back. “Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan, our resident loud mouth,” the whole group laughed at Steve’s joke, even Dugan. “And last, but least, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, my Sergeant and our advanced scout and sniper.” Bucky smirked, and stood up straighter at Steve’s side.

                “Nice to meet ya,” he drawled. The Commander grinned at the unit before making his own introductions.

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he said, “I’m Commander James Kano, US Navy. I’ve been tasked with flying you in and eventually taking you out.”

                “One question,” Dugan asked, and the commander looked at him. “Why did they send us a Navy flyboy instead of an army pilot?” Commander Kano grinned and ducked his head, before he glanced up at Steve.

                “You weren’t kidding,” he said with a chuckle, “he really is a big mouth.” Steven and Bucky both stifled a snort of laughter, under Steve and Dugan’s glares. Steve chuckled a little before answering.

                “Nope!”

                “Well, in any case,” he said, “I was sent in because I happen to be one of the best pilot’s the Allies have, army or navy, and because I have been doing late night bombing runs for the last few months in the camp’s general area, so I know the terrain better than army pilots. I can get you over the drop zone without trouble and fly you and your Col out of there before the Nazis even notice. I’m used to night missions, but I must admit,” he said with trepidation, as he gazed up at the plane. “This is the first time I’ll be flying one of these bombers.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his brow line.

                “You mean, you’ve never flown one before?” he asked incredulous. The commander shook his head, still gazing up at the behemoth he was going to fly; he hand running up and down the side. “Then what did you fly?”

                “Diver bombers mostly,” he said looking up at Steve and the Commandoes. “Light reconnaissance aircrafts, but I am qualified to fly this plane, I assure you. My co-pilot should be here shortly, and he had more experience in flying these planes than I do, I’m mostly here as navigator; sense I know where all the anti-aircraft guns are located. Don’t worry we’ll get you over your drop zone without trouble.” Steve let out a deep breath and smiled.

Steve looked up at the sky and then at his watch, nodding to the others to check their gear one last time. The sun was low enough in the sky and would be setting by the time they got over Europe. Steve knew that when they reached the drop zone it would be the dead of night, and hopefully the nearly non-existent moon would give them enough light to see by while covering their little invasion.

Once Bucky touched his arm, Steve knew it was a go. He looked up at the pilot and nodded his consent with a grim resolve. The Major checked his chute once more, before he and the recovery team climbed into the back of the plane. There were over 50 men sitting in the seats in Paratrooper gear. Steve and his team were the last to enter, seeing as they would be the first to exit the plane.

                “alright, guys,” Steve said as they got settled in, “I want to go over it one more time so we’ve got it right and there are no foul ups.” The Commandoes nodded and jerked when the plane’s engines turned over one by one. Soon the vibrations of the propellers were a steady and comforting hum.

                “This is transport plane Alpha one, niner, niner, requesting clearance for takeoff, over,” Steve heard the pilot say over the radio.

                “Transport plane, permission granted,” Steve heard the tower reply. “You are cleared for takeoff, over.”

                “Roger that, tower. Transport plane will begin radio silence after takeoff, and will resume chatter after we reach the drop zone, over.”

                “Roger that, transport,” the tower replied. “We will resume radio contact once in air, over.”

                “Roger, wilco, over and out.” The plane began to taxi down the runway, picking up speed until Steve felt the plane leave the ground and take to the sky. Steve smiled over at his team and settled in to wait for their drop.

~*~*~*~*~*~~**~**

* * *

 

                “Drop zone comin’ up! Get ready for the drop,” the Commander shouted over the blaring of the alarm.

Steve and the commandoes double checked there chutes and lines before the clipped their main line onto the cable. Steven shuffled nervously at the opening watching Steve look out the open hatch. Bucky would be the first of their group to jump, followed by Steven and the rest of the Commandoes, with Steve and Major DuLake going last. Steven watched the flashing red light, waiting for it to go green. Even with the distracting sounds of the men chattering behind him and the howl of the wind through the open door, Steven kept focused on the light. He waited only a few moments, before the red went green.

                “We’re green! Go, let’s go,” Steve said and urged Bucky to take the first step over the edge. “Go!” a quick light shove and Steven was over the edge and in the air. He rolled a few times in the air, before his chute finally deployed; but he saw the rest of the commandoes jump out of the opening followed by Major DuLake and finally the bright flash of Steve’s shield. The wind whipped around him and the low light made it hard to see but below him he could see the white of his Ada’s parachute.

The ground came up slowly but surely as the Commandoes drifted into a landing in a small glade in the forest a mile from their target. Steve tucked his legs and fell on his side, just like he trained, and was only jarred a little by the impact. Steven quickly rolled away so that he wouldn’t get tangled in his lines, and got to his feet. Once he was standing he could see the rest of the commandoes hitting the ground, and following procedure. Steven unclipped the harness from the chute, and started to roll it up. While he did so, he looked up and around himself to catch his bearings. Up in the sky were the faint outlines of the pillow white parachutes, and their passengers as they drifted down towards the landing site. Steven heard a metallic thump and turned as he saw the equipment tank hit the ground.  Steve came up to him and helped him finish with his chute before dealing with the equipment for their temporary base camp.

Steve gave him a light nod, as the table was set up and the maps lay out. Steve oriented himself with the map and looked up to see the rest of their liberation company drifting down for a soft landing. Steve put away his compass and had the maps stored before going to the company commander, with the mission orders.

                “Lieutenant,” he said, “I want you and your company to stay back until we extract our agent, before you make your move on the camp.” The Lieutenant nodded and told his second to pass the word. “We’ll go to the extraction point to get him. Hopefully he is already there, and when we’re ready, we’ll signal you in.”

                “What’s the signal, sir,” the man asked, and Steve gave him a crooked smirk.

                “Trust me,” he smirked, “I’ll know it, when you see it.” Dernier grinned like a kid a Christmas, full well knowing that it would be a big bang. The Lieutenant smiled and chuckled wryly at that, and turned to his unit.

                “Okay, Cap,” Bucky said, giving his sniper rifle one last check as he finished assembling it, “We better get goin’. We’ve got the night on our side and the element of surprise; we don’t want to lose that by chatting here, now do we?”

                “Bucky’s right,” Steve said with a nod. “Commandoes, let’s get moving!” Steve pulled his shield onto his arm and started the long trek to the extraction point. Steven and the other followed closely behind; spread out over a distance to watch for sentries.

                “Company, move out!” the lieutenant called, and the troops got moving.

Steven marched behind Steve and his Ada on silent feet, his eyes watching for lookouts and sentries that could give away their position. The further they walked without being seen the more confident Steven became. Steven stayed close to Steve and waited for the signal to stop. They walk through a thick grove of trees, the bushes tangled in brambles around the young saplings but the forest floor covered in moss and ferns. Their footprints spring back if they step on the moss, and leave no sound as they move through toward the tree line.

Suddenly Steve stops. He held up his and in a silent command for halt and crept forward towards a cluster of oak trees and yew bushes. At first Steven didn’t realize that they had reached the extraction point until Steve whistled low and trilling, like a night bird, or owl. There was silence for a moment before a higher bird call came from the bushes to the left of the tangle of young oaks. Steve sighed and whistled the response bird call. The bushes rustled and a pair of figures stepped out of the shadows and into the meager light of the assassin’s moon. The operative is supporting a dark haired man, who leaned on him like a lifeline. The spy wore the typical Nazi uniform of an SS officer, but his cap was missing and without it the light shone off his golden head. The man looked up as Major DuLake pushed forward towards the haggard Colonel.

                “Fëanor!” he cried out, and the dark haired man looked up dazed before a relieved smile pulled across his tired face. The Col pulled his arm off the spy’s shoulder and staggered into the Major’s embrace.

                “Joshua,” he sighed as he leaned his weight on the other man, tension leaving his body and softening his face. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” Fëanor buried his face into Joshua’s shoulder to hide his tears of relief and joy. “I thought I was as good as dead.”

                “Never, my friend,” Joshua replied, “I would never let you die in some prison camp if I could help it; though you gave me a pretty good scare!” Joshua chuckled and Fëanor huffed out a soft laugh. Fëanor pulled away and looked up at his rescuers.

                “Thank you, my good sirs,” he said, “I owe you all my life.” Steven thought it might have been the glint of the moon on his face, but he could have sworn for a moment that Fëanor had shed tears. “Lt. Col. Fëanor Noldorean of his majesty’s Royal Army, at your service,” he said as he straightened his posture and leaned on his second.

Steve smiled softly but turned his attention back to the blond spy, still cloaked in shadows and night. The man stepped forward and suddenly Bucky let out a shocked gasp. Steve looked over at his friend and found him as pale as a sheet and his eyes wide with shock.

                “Arion,” he breathed, and the man turned his gaze to Bucky. A warm and tender look stole across his face, when he set his eyes on Bucky.

                “Arion?” Steve asked in shock and a need for confirmation. “As in… **_that_** Arion?” Bucky smiled softly at the ellon before him, and that was as good as a verbal response. Steve turned back to the man with murder in his eyes, and a hard jaw. The elf seemed to ignore this, for his eyes were locked on Bucky’s form.

                “James,” he said, and the way he said it said a hundred different things. Steve took a menacing step forward to throttle the man for leaving Bucky pregnant with his child, when Steven took quick charge and put himself between Steve and his father.

                “Cap,” he said firmly, “we got a mission to finish, so you can just stow your feelings on the matter for later until after we’ve blown the base; and are in the air, preferably.” Steve looked at his Lieutenant with incredulous shock, and Arion looked at him with grateful awe. Steve looked at him for a moment before he deflated with a sigh and nodded his head in consent.

Steven pulled away from them and lead the Col and his Major back towards their small camp, where the invading force was a waiting Intel on the layout of the base and camp. The Commandoes followed him, leaving Steve, Bucky, and Arion alone in the clearing. Bucky stepped closer to the blond elf and smiled softly. He raised his hands as if to pull him into a hug and then lowered them, settling for cupping his jaw instead. It was as if Bucky didn’t know what to do with his hands, or his body. He was awkward and eager as well as overcome with joy. His eyes drank in Arion’s figure with the ravenousness of a man dying of thirst, and he opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to say something, but the words had escaped him. Steve very suddenly felt as if he was intruding on a very intimate moment, and shuffled his feet awkwardly and cast his gaze about, so as to not look at them. This became all the more needed when Bucky suddenly surged forward and locked Arion’s lips in a passionate kiss. Steve blushed and turned away, hoping that Bucky would remember their mission on his own without intervention. When their passionate kissing drew forth a moan of pleasure from Bucky, Steve quickly cleared his throat, and the two slowly pulled apart. Arion pulled back slightly, but Bucky pressed light kisses to his lips, chasing the velvet petals of Arion’s mouth, and catching the lower lip in his teeth; drawing him back for another kiss, before pulling away. Arion chased his lips for a moment before they leaned their foreheads against one another.

                “I thought I’d never see you again,” Bucky whispered to Arion, his eyes seeking out truth from the man that gave him a son. Bucky’s eyes searched his face for a sign that Arion hadn’t used him and thrown him away like the others; that he cared about what he had done, and loved him still. Arion’s eyes fluttered shut and twitches of pain and emotional agony stole across his face. When they opened Bucky could see the pain and turmoil swirling in his gaze like pools of whirling water stirred up by a violent storm.

                “When I heard that…” Arion’s eyes fluttered again as tears pooled and fell, and his voice caught in his throat. “When Zola took you to that lab… I thought you were as good as dead!” his eyes opened and were filled with such pain, but a light still shone in them that grew brighter with every glance into Bucky’s face. “Then I heard that you were rescued, when the factory was invaded and the prisoners revolted, and I could have wept for joy! I did not trust my heart, when it said you were alive, und now I regret every moment of it! I could have been with you, fighting by your side, and instead I was here… continuing this verdammt mission!” Bucky pulled Arion into his embrace as the tears and grief of time lost over whelmed the elf. Arion tucked his face into the joint of Bucky’s shoulder and neck, and wept bitter tears of sorrow.

Steve, watching the whole event, felt like an intruder and voyeur, making him uncomfortable and awkward at best. His boot scuffed the ground and Arion lifted his face from the space between Bucky’s shoulder and neck. Steve locked eyes with the other blond and felt a bubbling of jealousy in his gut before he quashed it viciously, when he realized that Bucky was still his friend and he was not being replaced at his side. Arion’s place at Bucky’s side was a place of romantic love and devotion, whereas Steve’s was one of sibling love and dedication. Bucky was his big brother in all but blood, and, though it hurt, Steve realized he couldn’t hoard Bucky to himself anymore. That ended the day Steven was born, and Steve would never deny his namesake the love and presence of his father, not when he’d had so little time with his own.

Steve gently cleared his throat and the two lovers pulled apart to look at Steve. Steve reluctantly sat his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to pull them apart.

                “We ought to head back to camp, Buck,” he said softly and hesitantly. “We’re gonna need your Intel on the base’s outlines and weaknesses, Arion.” The two nodded and stepped further away from each other, before they walked back to the camp.

At the edge of the camp one of the Canadian volunteers intercepted them as lookout. He was a scruffy looking man with a big set of sideburns that went down to almost his chin, and a look of a man you did **_not_** want to get in a fight with. His face was young but his eyes spoke of one that had seen too much. Steve absently wondered if he was some lost Numenorean or something else entirely. He had a cigar clenched in his teeth, and didn’t seem to be smoking it, just chewing on the end a bit.

                “Yer boys want this kid’s Intel fast, so we can blow this camp before dawn,” the man said gruffly around his cigar. Steve smiled, and nodded.

                “Thanks, uh?” he asked.

                “Logan, Cap,” he said after taking out his cigar. “Logan Howlett.” The man held out his hand and Steve took it kindly with a grin. “Gee, kid,” he laughed, “you sure got a blinding smile. You look just like yer daddy, when you smile like that.” Bucky and Steve’s eyebrow’s rose to their hairline at that statement.

                “My Dad,” he asked confused and incredulous all at once, “You knew him?” Logan nodded and pulled out an old worn picture from his pocket. Steve took it and looked down to see his Dad’s blinding smile printed in black and white, as he stood next to the man before him; his arm slung around his shoulders in a comradely embrace. It was obviously taken during the last war, because both men were in uniforms and in muddy trenches, but it was his father, alright; no doubt.

                “You were in the War together,” he asked as he handed the picture back. “He never mentioned any Logan Howlett, as far as I can remember. But then again, he didn’t like talking about the war that much.”

                “I knew yer daddy, alright,” Logan said fondly. “He was the best man I ever had the honor of meeting. He gave everyone a fair shake; didn’t matter where you came from. He was a good man. I heard his unit got gassed, but I never heard anything else after that. Did he die?”

 Steve nodded sadly.

                “When I was four, almost five,” he answered. “The docs said it was because of the Mustard Gas he was exposed to. It burned his lungs real bad, caused him to get pneumonia almost every cold and flu season. At least I got to say goodbye to him, that’s more than anyone else in his unit got.” The two men were silent for a moment in remembrance before Steve looked over at Bucky and Arion and remembered they had a briefing to do and a little demolition before dawn. “I better get him to the maps and the rest of the guys so we can get this done.”

                “Yeah,” Logan said somberly then grinned as he put his cigar back in his mouth. “Into the Jaws of Death, eh, Cap?” Bucky smothered a snort, but Steve still looked over his shoulder at him. Bucky smiled innocently and Steve rolled his eyes.

                “Somethin’ like that,” Steve answered, and walked towards the table set up with maps and drawings of the base and camp laid out in front of Fëanor and the rest of the Commandoes. Fëanor was pointing to things on the map and making notations and corrections when they got over to the table and Steve turned his critical eye over the tactical issues of this mission.

~*~*~*~~**

* * *

 

When Steve heard the guys call him over to one of the barracks after they’d cleared the camp, Steve thought that it was because they had found some of Schmidt’s weapons. But no, the reality was so much worse. When he got to the Commandoes, Dugan was paler than he had ever seen before in his life and Falsworth was green, looking for the life of him about one inch from throwing up. Steven had a look of horror on his face that Steve had never wanted to see in his life, and Bucky was sitting on the ground, pale as death, his eyes widened  with panic and horror, and breathing in harsh short gasps like he was about to have one of his episodes they didn’t talk about. At first Steve wondered what could elicit such a response out of his men, all hardened soldiers, including Steven who had seen the worst of what HYDRA could do; and they he saw them: the bodies. Steve felt his horror growing as he stepped closer to the opened door and took in the sight before him.

There were dozens of them, all thin, all emaciated; starved until they were naught but skin and bones. They were all naked or clothed in striped prisoner’s uniforms with a yellow Star of David sewn onto the chest of the cloth. The star had the word “Jude” stitched on it, and Steve realize with dawning horror that this camp was one of the Death Camps he had heard about months before in rumors from the top. Steve felt a wave of nausea and revulsion, when he realized that they were all dead. These were dead Jewish men and women lying on the ground before him, their bodies stacked like cordwood. Once the nausea subsided a bit, tears of sorrow and despair filled his eyes, as he thought of how much they had to have suffered to get into this state. Steve looked up at his men and saw the dawning realization in their eyes.

Steve turned to the rest of the rows of barracks and rushed to the nearest door. With a mighty heave, he pulled the door right off its hinges. Inside was more of the same: death and despair, bodies of men lying in cots and bunks, all dead from starvation or disease. A choked sob was torn from his chest as tears started to fall. Steve clenched his jaw and turned around, only to find Logan standing in the door way.

                “Howlett,” he ordered with a choked voice, “I want you and your men to search each and every one of these barracks for survivors!” Logan looked up sharply at Steve and clenched his jaw in determination. The man turned about face and went off to do the job Steve assigned him, hollering for men to break open the doors and get medics ready for any survivors.

                “Steve,” said a voice to his left and Steve turned and saw Bucky looking at him with grief and helplessness. “We’ll find them, if there are any.” Steve shouldered passed Bucky, trying to keep from hyperventilating as he tried to process what had happened and what he had seen. Gloved hands went up to take off his helmet and drop it to the ground, before fisting in his hair as his eyes squeezed shut with unbridled grief. “Steve?” Bucky hesitantly set his hand on Steve’s shoulder, not knowing how to help his friend process what he had seen, when he didn’t know if he could. Steve took deep harsh breaths through his clenched teeth, but didn’t shake off Bucky’s attempt at comfort. After a long moment of minor shaking, he suddenly went still. Bucky stepped closer to get a look at his friend’s face, and took a startled step back, when he saw the white hot fury and rage on Steve’s face, his eyes burning with hate. Bucky hesitantly turned his gaze to where Steve’s eyes had locked, and saw the Nazi prisoners they had taken. Steve dropped his hands from his hair and clenched them into fists at his sides, before marching menacingly towards them, murder and intent on his face. Bucky quickly stepped into his path and put his hands on Steve’s shoulders.

                “Steve, don’t do this!” he said desperately, as he tried to stop Steve from getting to his goal, and failing. Bucky’s shoes kept slipping and sliding in the mud, preventing him from getting good traction and stopping him. “Steve, _stop it_! **_STEVE, STOP_**!” he shouted, and Steve finally stopped looking at his friend with impotent rage fueled by grief. “Steve, you don’t wanna cross that line; you don’t! You can’t do that! If you do, you’ll be no better than them, and I know you don’t want that! Just take a deep breath and think! Use yer head! Don’t turn into that kinda monster, Steve; I know you don’t! Just calm down; think about what that would do to your conscience, if you killed them; in cold blood. You’d hate yerself. It would eat at ya, and chew you up inside. Eventually it would kill ya, Steve, cause man wasn’t meant to deal with that kinda grief and regret and guilt.” Steve’s eyes cleared a little form rage as tears filled them. “Let it go, Steve. Let it go!” Steve’s face crumpled and his body began to shake as he started to sob. “Oh God, Steve! Hey, hey! Come here.” Bucky pulled Steve into his arms and Steve buried his face in his chest as he began to sob hard and loud. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Steve.” Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve’s back and in circles across his shoulders, while the other hand rubbed soothingly through his hair. “It’ll be okay,” Bucky said with a wobbly voice as his own grief caught up with him.

Steven came up to the pair and Bucky pulled him into the embrace, and together they all grieved and cried for the senseless death and wasted lives of those taken by the cruelty of their new prisoners.

Those prisoners never made it to questioning, because they were dead before the plane even arrived at the pickup point, having met an end at the end of Bucky’s pistol. The dead prisoners of the Nazi regime were buried in an elvish cairn for a mass grave; their bodies lined up in rows with small personal items lay next to them or on their chests where their arms were crossed. The soldiers dutifully took down the numbers tattooed on the prisoners’ arms before the Cairn was raised. A prayer was spoken over them before Arion sprinkled a small bit of dirt and some seeds over the cairn. Elvish words flowed from his lips like music, and over the cairn grass began to grow and cover it. At the very top of the Cairn a sapling sprung up and began to grow, its bark silver and smooth and its leaves large. The sapling grew tall and its roots grew over the cairn before sinking into the earth around it, circling the grave in a protecting embrace of its woven and overlapping roots. The trunk grew wide and tall and its branches reached for the heavens like no other tree that had ever grown, and before long the tree was full grown and taller than any tree to have ever grown before.

                “Mallorn,” Steve said reverently when he realized what type of tree it was. Each man looked at the tree and felt it as an omen of luck and life, before they turned to take their ride back home. “Why did you plant it?” Steve asked once they were in the air.

                “That place had been spoiled by death and despair, and I wanted a place of rest for those people that could be never taken away,” he said. “And because I caused some of that grief, myself; orders or no. I owed it to them to give them a good resting place.” Steve smiled and looked out the window just in time to see the camp go up in flames.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: so, what do you think? It was my first time ever trying to describe a scene like that. I wanted the grief and despair to be very evident, and to show that, and remind people that Steve also fought regular Nazis who were just as evil as HYDRA. And that Steve probably felt something like this when he first saw what the Nazis were doing to the Jews and anyone who didn’t fit their view of Arian perfection.  
> I liked writing this chapter especially the reunion of Arion and Bucky, and the Wolverine cameo.  
> please review, and Kudos if you like


	12. New Identities and Reconnecting (Getting to Know You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex and language warning!  
> Bucky and Arion reconnect, and Steve get's embarrassed.  
> the invasion of Normandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: lots of stuff in this, non-cannon stuff and embarrassment for Steve and Bucky, but mostly Steve. Fun stuff coming

The plane ride back to base, and eventually back to London, was uneventful and tense. Steve kept glaring daggers at Arion, and Joshua and Fëanor had to be taken back on a separate plane because of how rattled and frightened he was in Arion’s presence. Arion on the other hand was as silent as stone. The Commandoes watched the spy carefully and warily for signs of deceit, and found nothing behind his stony mask of careful blankness. Bucky sat at his side after half way through the trip, and took his hand in his own. Arion looked down at Bucky’s hand entwining his fingers with his own. For a moment everything was still, and the only sound in the cabin of the plane was the occasional cough or snore from one of the soldiers. Then Arion’s stony façade slowly melted into warmth and tenderness. His icy blue eyes, which had been as turbulent as the north sea and just as deep and treacherous, were now as warm and blue as the waters of the Caribbean sea.  A rumor of a smile brushed across his lips, and Bucky smiled before giving his hand one last squeeze and releasing it.

Arion leaned his shoulder onto Bucky’s and rested his head the other man’s, as sleep finally began to take hold. Arion and Bucky’s eyes began to drift shut as they leaned into each other, and were carried off to the land of dreams and rest.

When Bucky and Arion next opened their eyes, it was to Steve gently shaking his friend awake. Bucky looked about in confusion for a moment before he yawned and stretched out the sleep from his joints.  Arion sighed and stretched languidly like a big cat, and smiled at Steve as he slowly shook off the last vestiges of sleep. Steve smiled softly back as he knelt in front of Bucky, his arm braced on his bent knee.

                “We’ll be landing in a few minutes, Bucky,” he said, and Bucky nodded. “Command says that your handler is going to be there for your debriefing, Arion, so you better be ready to meet up with them when we land.” Arion nodded sagely and turned to Bucky as Steve stood up and walked back to his seat to strap in for landing. Arion looked at Bucky with a sad urgency. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, before he sighed and looked at his lover with a sad smile.

                “It’s gonna be okay, Arion,” Bucky said when he saw the elf’s indecision and conflict on his face. He smirked and nocked his shoulder against the elf’s shoulder. “You’ll see.”~***~~

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The moment they landed, Arion became jittery and fidgeted with his hands gripping and clenching at his knees and trousers. Steve looked over at the two, when Bucky took the other’s hand in his own for a moment, and Steve felt a half smile pull at the corner of his mouth.  The plane taxied to a stop before the engines finally, blessedly, shut down.

                “Thank you for flying Commander Kano Air,” the pilot said dryly over the intercom, “I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight. Please keep yourselves seated and your safety belts fastened until we’ve come to a complete stop. If you would please disembark the craft in calmly and an efficient manner at the rear of the plane starting from the front to back, we’ll all be out of here in no time. This is your pilot, Commander James Finn Kano, signing off now, over and out.” The men all chuckled at the bland and calm demeanor of the pilot, speaking as if this was just a charter plane ride and not a military mission. Steve and the Commandoes all shared a grin and laugh at the pilot’s words as he cut the intercom and took off his headset. The Commandoes all chuckled at the man’s antics as they disembarked the plane. Steve and Bucky were the last out, with Arion between them.

The regular soldiers all piled into jeeps and rode away to get some shuteye before dawn and breakfast. Most grumbled that there was no point in going back to bed after a night mission, and said that they were going to get food then take a light nap. Steve and the Commandoes, on the other hand, were all standing on the tarmac around Steve and Arion as a command car pulled up. Inside were Peggy and Colonel Philips, joined by what Steve and the Commandoes assumed was the MI6 agent there to debrief Arion. Philips and Peggy climbed out of the car and were followed by the agent. The man was tall and slim, with a very no non-sense demeanor. He was every bit a handler but in a pinch could also be a good field agent.

Arion broke off from the group and walked toward the man. Time seemed to slow for Bucky as he watched the man he had come to love walk away again. Suddenly several things happened all at once. Steve heard sounds of a scuffle in the distance and looked off to see a man go down, and another bring up a rifle. Steve turned to call out a warning, and heard the sound of something wiz by. Time slowed, as suddenly Arion jerked and fell like a limp doll, his knees crashing onto the tarmac first before he fell to his side and front. The report of the rifle came just a second after it struck him, and Steve had to grab Bucky’s shoulders and pull him down; fearing another shot would come, and they were sitting ducks on the field to a sniper. Bucky looked up just in time to see Arion go down. All sound faded from his ears to a dull ring, as he screamed out and scrambled to his feet.

                “Bucky,” Steve cried out, but it was far way and muffled by the sound of Bucky’s own heart beating in his ears. “NO! Sniper!” Bucky ignored him and scrambled to get to Arion’s side.

                “NO!” he screamed, clambering on his hands and knees; struggling to get to his feet. Just as he is about to get to Arion’s side, the MI6 agent suddenly had Buck by the arms and held him back. “NO! LET ME GO!” he screamed and struggled in the man’s surprisingly strong hold. The agent simply held on and then Bucky felt the hot breath of the man’s lips near his ear.

                “Stop struggling, Sgt. Barnes,” he whispered in his ear. “It’s a ruse, nothing more. Arion is fine. We planned this, to protect Lt Shaw from scrutiny. If they think he is dead, they won’t know where the intelligence, we have, came from. They were blanks and I was using a small air gun to puncture a fake blood pack at his front while he blew out the back himself. That one is filled with real blood; looks better than the fake stuff.” Bucky slowly stopped struggling as a field ambulance rushed to the field.

The Commandoes got to their feet, when it was obvious that there were no shots to follow. Steven went to Bucky’s side and buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder, as the medics came and turned Arion onto his back. The elf was paler than he had ever been before, his lips devoid of color save for the dribble of what must have been fake blood coming out of his lips and down his chin. There was a hole in the cloth of his uniform, and if Bucky hadn’t have been told, he would have sworn under oath that he had been shot. Blood was pooling under him, and his eyes were open but glazed over slightly; sightless and devoid of life. His chest was so still that if Bucky hadn’t have been looking for it, he would never have seen the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. The medics must be in on the ruse, because the one that put his head to Arion’s chest raised it a second later and shook it before giving the order to put the “body” on the stretcher, and take it away.

                “I know this must be hard for you to swallow,” the agent said, “But it is for the best that we do this now. Adrian spoke very highly of you. Practically sung your praises, he did. He asked for this, wanted this done now so that it wouldn’t be harder in the future. He dearly loves you, and would never let anything happen to you.” The agent gave Bucky a pat on the shoulder for comfort before he turned away to climb into the ambulance and escort his agent back for debriefing.

Steve pulled Bucky into the transport truck with the others and maneuvered him into sitting next to his son. Steven, Howard, Peggy and Falsworth all rode in the car with Bucky and Steve back to base. And whilst on the way, Bucky told them everything: the affair at the base, the tryst they had whenever Bucky could get away and Arion wouldn’t be noticed missing, and finally what Fingon and Avery’s wife had told him about Arion.

Throughout the whole confession, Howard sat in silence and contemplated what he was going to tell the brass, before he finally decided that he would just give them the clean bits and bury the rest. The SSR may be able to turn a blind eye to Barnes being in love with a man, granted he wasn’t even human, and not having any proof of the matter, what with him being their star sniper and Captain America’s closest friend and most trusted ally; but having proof would have sent the younger man back home with a blue slip pinned to his breast, and all honors stripped. Now Howard liked Bucky. He really did. He thought he was a smart cookie, and that he had a better understanding of technology than he let on. It didn’t hurt that Barnes had stated on multiple occasions that he liked reading science magazines and pulp novels, and had some pretty ingenious ideas that Stark really wanted to give a try, when the war ended. He wanted Bucky to make it through the war safely and by Steve’s side, and that meant being discharged with honors; and he wanted to give the man a job after it was over with.

‘ _That man’s mind is wasted on manual labor,’_ Stark thought to himself on more than one occasion. ‘ _I can pay him gobs more then he will get from the Army or even hard labor, and I can stimulate his mind.’_

Now that Bucky was telling them everything, and essentially giving them the noose to hang him with, Howard was going to do whatever he could to protect the boy until the could be discharged and he could give Bucky a job.

                “We won’t tell them, Barnes,” Howard said. “If they ask, we’ll give them a cleaned up version of what happened. They’re not getting you.” Steve and Bucky looked at the inventor with identical looks of grateful relief. Steven stared at his hands and wondered just how different he really was.

                “You know,” Bucky said with a laugh, “I could really use a drink!” the broken sound that came out of his mouth could barely be called a laugh, but no one mentioned it. Howard grinned playfully.

                “How about, when we’ve finished with the debrief, we all head back to that pub you Howlers love so much, and I’ll buy you guys a drink; one round. I know how much Dugan can put away.” Bucky’s broken laugh turned into a more genuine one as the others all cheerfully agreed and laughed at the absent man’s expense.

                “Yeah,” Steve said with a playful grin, “it’s not like you’ve got more money than the Rockefeller’s, and Howard Hues combined. Oh, wait…” Steve grinned as Steven and Bucky laughed at Howard’s irritated look, before it melted and he joined the laughter. ~*~***~~

~***~*

* * *

 

The bar is packed when they get there, and Bucky gladly went to the bar and ordered himself a hard drink.

                “Give me that hardest glass of Scotch Whiskey you’ve got,” he ordered the bar keep, “on the rocks.”

The barkeeper raised his eyebrows at the red eyes and pale features Bucky had, and Bucky realized he must have looked a fright. The barkeeper shrugged and reached down to the bottom shelf under the bar and presented Bucky and Steven with a bottle of Scotch that was still sealed and had a thin layer of dust on the neck. The wax was blood red and looked to be hand dipped, because the seal was all drippy and uneven. The label was yellowed with age and cracked a little where it was beginning to pull away from the bottle. Bucky took the bottle in hand and blew off the dust and noted the bottling date of 1917; the year he was born. Bucky raised his eye brows, impressed that this little bar had a bottle of Scotch this old, still unopened. He handed it back to the keeper and the man opened it. He poured a measure of the Scotch over the ice in his clean glass, and handed it back to Bucky. Bucky took a slow mouthful, savoring the taste before his swallowed; relishing in the temporary burn it gave. It wouldn’t make him drunk, nothing could anymore, but it would help calm his nerves.

                “I take it I am to but this on your Captain’s tab?” the Barkeep asked.

                “Nope,” Bucky gasped around the burn, “Stark’s payin’ for this. Oh, wow. Smooth,” he breathed through his nose. “That’s got some kick!” Bucky turned when he felt a touch on his shoulder, and saw Steven there with a worried furrow to his youthful brow. Bucky licked his lips and took the glass in one hand before gently leading his son over to a more secluded part of the bar. Ironically it was the same place he and Steve’d had their little chat when Steve recruited him.

Steven held his own glass between his hands, and looked down somberly into the amber liquid. After a minute he takes a small swallow, and grimaces at the burn but doesn’t gag or cough; he just squeezed his eyes tight and blows out a long slow breath. Bucky let out a sigh through his nose before he set the glass down and turned to face his son.

                “I do love him,” he said and Steven looked up from his glass. “Your father, I mean; I do love him.” Bucky turned back to face the bar and speak rather than look at his son’s face. “I mean, how could I not? He was a refuge for me when I needed it. He protected me from… the … worst of the guards, and he was kind to me, in ways that no one had been. And I love him,” Bucky let out a water soft laugh, “God Help me, I love him!”

                “Did you know he was a spy?” Steven asked. Bucky glanced over at Steven then looked back down into his drink.

                “No,” he answered softly, “not at first. I suspected something was off, but I didn’t ask. How he kept his feelings for me a secret, I’ll never know. HYDRA never knew he was having an affair with a man, or else he would have been shot. If they found out it was with a prisoner, I would have been shot. Your father took care of me as best he could. It was more than just attraction that drew us to… make you,” he smiled fondly and looked up at Steven’s face; which was open and yearning. “Elves, especially High Elves of the West, don’t have… uh, sex, um… lightly. And what father did with me, was more than just sex. He spoke vows; bound us together, body and soul that first time.” He chuckled and looked back down to his drink. He brought it up to his lips before he spoke. “I guess that was the night you were conceived.”

                “Was I a mistake?” Steven asked after a moment of silence. Bucky looked up from his drink and let it clank down onto the bar, as he looked at his son with shock. His eyes widened as he took in the defeated and lost posture Steven held, as he gazed into his drink on the bar. Bucky heard the sounds of revelry coming from the Commandoes at their usual table, and their off-key singing to the lively piano music.

                “What?” he gasped, “no! No, Steven, you weren’t a mistake! I love you; so much. I might not have known about you, but trust me, if I had known about you, I would have wanted you more than anything! You’re my son! And if your father had known, he would have moved heaven and earth to be with you.” Steven looked at his Ada with a watery smile.

                “Did you know,” he asked softly, “about me?” Bucky let out a long breath and turned back to his drink.

                “Not for sure,” he answered, “I suspected, though; but I didn’t have any proof. I didn’t… want to … I didn’t want to get my hopes up, only for them to be crushed, if I lost you or… if it turned out I wasn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him either.”

                “Am I even human?” Steven asked. Bucky turned back to his son and left the drink for good. He turned Steven to face him and held onto both of his shoulders, ducking his head to look him in the eye.

                “Yes, you are,” he said with conviction. “You’re human. And just because your father isn’t, doesn’t make you any less of a human being. So you have a little elven blood in ya, so what? So do I. Aren’t I human? You’re human where it counts, Steven; that’s all that matters.” Steven smiled brokenly and his lower lip wobbled a bit before Bucky pulled him into a hug. “Oh, hey! It’s okay, Stevie; it’s okay. Shh. Hush, hush, it’s alright.”

Steven sobbed on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment before he regained his composure. He pulled away and laughed as he wiped his eyes and cheeks of the evidence of his tears. His smile wasn’t so broken and fragile now, and Bucky gave him a light pat on the back as they both turned back to their drinks.

The sound of the Commandoes singing a jaunty tune is like a soft background to their thoughts. Occasionally he can hear Steve’s laugh as one of them makes a fool of themselves, and it brings a smile to his face. Suddenly the singing trails off and just the piano playing remains. Bucky frowned and turned to see what had caused such a commotion. When he looked over Steven’s back, his mouth dropped open with shock. Standing in the doorway, just as Peggy had done all those months ago, was a gorgeous dame in the most stunning red dress he had ever seen. It looked like it had been taken straight from a Hollywood movie. It was a deep red color, with the collar just barely cupping her shoulders, revealing creaming white skin that while muscular looked like they were sculpted from marble they were so smooth. The sleeves were long and had bejeweled cuffs. The bodice of the dress had a dropped waist that accentuated her curves and was bejeweled in sequence and embroidery. The skirt was long and flowing, made of some see-through fabric over silk, and it dragged on the floor. There was a very long slit up the left side that went up past her knee. All in all, the dress was glamorous, seductive, and downright sinful to look at. It was nearly a crime to not stare.

Bucky let out a low whistle and he raked his eyes over the lithe form of the temptress before him. Her hair was golden, and short for a woman’s, and was pin-straight. It was long on one side but almost sheared to the scalp on the other, and through the back. Her lips were painted a seductive red that brought out the flush of her cheeks, and the paleness of her skin. He lashes were long and dark and her lids were painted into a smoky bedroom look, and they fanned perfectly over gem-like sapphire blue eyes.

                “Hubba hubba,” Bucky said under his breath as he took one last drink and painted on his most rakish grin.

Steven looked at his Ada in incredulous shock, over the transformation and looked over to see what had caused it. Bucky straightened his clothes and swaggered over to the beauty with all the charm and suaveness of a young soldier, and a Brooklyn skirt-chaser, and ladies’ man. Steven swallowed a snort, and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle his giggles, when he realized who was under the pretty dress and makeup.

                “Hi there, doll-face,” he said in his thickest Brooklyn drawl, “what’s a gorgeous dame like you doin’ in a place like this?” the golden hair beauty looked over at him through hooded eyes, out of the corner of her eye, and smirked.

                “Looking for you, James,” the surprisingly deep and soft voiced replied, in a distinctly Germanic accent. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up to his hair line, when he recognized the voice, and his charming smirk vanished off his lips; replaced by open shock.

                “Arion!?” he said softly, and incredulously. Arion smiled under his makeup and nodded. Bucky took a step back and a second look at the ‘dame’ before him. The dress was form fitting, but Bucky could tell that there was a very tight corset underneath to change his figure, and the dress covered up enough of his chest that he couldn’t see cleavage but there was a hint of one from what he assumed was a padded bra. His voluptuous curves were beautiful, but Bucky lived in Brooklyn and he had seen drag-queens before, so he could tell, when they were faked. It was so good it even fooled him. He looked back up at Arion’s smirk, with shock and amazement.

                “See somethin you like, Sergeant?” Arion asked haughtily, with a raised eyebrow. Bucky gulped hard, and gave him a dopy grin.

                “Yeah,” he squawked, as his voice cracked an octave above normal. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I do.” A silly, love sick grin pulled across his lips and Steven couldn’t keep his mirth contained anymore, and burst out laughing. Bucky glared over at his son, who was doubled over on the bar desperately trying to stop his laughter, and failing miserably; as he snorted and chortled under his crossed arms. Bucky rolled his eyes and looked back to Arion, and saw a fond smile firmly in place.

                “My name is Míriel Adria, Sergeant,” he said and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bucky took hold of the hand and brought the knuckles up to his lips for a kiss.

                “The pleasure’s all mine, mi ‘lady,” he said against his hand. Arion blushed prettily and smiled at Bucky’s charm. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Míriel.” Arion took Bucky by the arm and they go to the bar. Steven is still giggling into his folded arms on the bar top.  Bucky ignored him for the most part and settled down with Arion to talk.

                “I am sorry about all of this, James,” he said, and took Bucky’s hand. “I had no other choice. I didn’t want to hide anymore. Míriel Adria is my new cover. I had them come up with it while I was still in Germany. I was always supposed to return, and have a new cover created. When I met you, James, it all changed. Everything changed the moment I saw you. I have never seen such a bright and beautiful soul, as I have seen in you, James. You are good, and loyal, and brave. It is no small wonder why your friend, Captain Rogers, loves you so much. You have such strength within you that so few men, this age, have. That is why I chose to end my life as Adrian Shaw and become Míriel Adria: so that I could be near you, and maybe absorb some of that strength.”

As Arion spoke Bucky found himself falling again, this time he didn’t resist the love and affection growing in his heart. A soft smile stole its way onto his face, brightening it and making him look younger than he had felt in years. Weariness and heartbreak began to melt away and heal under the kind and loving words of the elf, and Bucky realized with a jolt that he was well and truly in love with Arion Ingwion.

Bucky looked over at Steven and saw that he had regained composure, and felt that it was finally time for father and son to properly meet. So with a wicked grin, Bucky pulled Arion over to Steven’s side to introduce him to his son.

                “Arion,” he said softly in to the elf’s ear, “there is someone you simply have to meet.” Arion grinned at Bucky as he pulled him over to Steven. “Arion, I want you to meet Lt. Steven Grant Buchanan.” Arion smiled brightly when Steven turned and took Arion’s offered hand. With a wicked grin Bucky added, “Our son.” Arion’s face bloomed with open shock as he looked back at Bucky for confirmation. Bucky smiled fondly and his eyes twinkled with mirth, at Arion’s bewilderment.

The Elf turned back to Steven, whose face was just as shocked and filled with earnest desire for affection, and took a long look at the young man. His eyes searched Steven’s face for hints of himself, and he found them in the regal straightness of Steven’s unbroken nose, the refined quality of his slightly longer than Bucky’s face and jaw, and in the color of Steven’s hair, the shade of blue of his eyes. Arion dropped Steven’s hand and brought it up to cover his mouth in shock. Tears of joy and wonder filled his eyes, threatening to ruin his mascara. The hand dropped and Arion brought them up to run his fingers over Steven’s face in reverence. They ghosted over his features before settling on his cheeks and jaw, framing his face.

Finally Steven smiled a watery smile, and pulled Arion into a warm hug; which Arion gladly returned. The elf ran his hands through Steven’s baby soft blond locks and turned his nose into the space behind Steven’s pointed ear; another trait he got from his father. Tender kisses and a wet smile pared with a soft laugh found home in this spot, as Arion relished in the embrace of his only son. Finally after a long moment, Arion pulled away to look at Steven’s face.

                “My son!” he breathed, “my beautiful boy. Let me look at you!” Arion pulled away and drank in Steven’s form; tall muscular and perfectly proportioned. “You’re so beautiful!” Steven blushed and smiled, turning his head way in bashfulness. Arion brought his hands up to cup Steven’s face again, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. There were tears wetting the lashes, and his eyes were red. “Oh, Ion nin, don’t cry! It’s alright. I’m here, and I’m not leaving again!” Bucky came up behind him and Arion looked over his shoulder at the sergeant. “Our son!” he gasped with a wide smile.

                “Our son,” Bucky said fondly and softly. Bucky reached out and put his hand on Steven’s shoulder. He squeezed it for a second before he cupped his jaw and slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth in a comforting and tender manner. “Steven, this is your father.” Arion dropped his hands to Steven’s shoulders.

                “Hi, dad,” Steven said softly, and Arion nearly broke down in tears again, but instead began to laugh. Steven joined him, and roughly wiped away the tears from his eyes.

                “Arion’s been given a new cover,” Bucky said with a chuckle, “hence the dress. Her name is Míriel Adria. She’s still workin’ for SIS, so we’ll have to call her Mírë in public, or Míriel.” Steven nodded, and Arion dropped his hands, turned back to the bar and picked up his clutch purse. With it held tightly in hand, he looked even more like a stunning beauty. With his new cover firmly in place, Bucky smiled and offered Arion his arm as escort. “Why don’t we introduce ‘her’ to the guys, eh, Steven?” Steven cleared his throat and straightened his clothes, before nodding.

                “Sounds like a plan,” he answered. “Lead the way, Serge.”

                “This way, Mírë,” Bucky said as he escorted ‘her’ towards the Commandoes at their usual table.

Bucky grinned at the table and waved. Dugan waved back; well actually saluted back with his half full beer stein sloshing on his sweater. Bucky sniggered and suppressed a smile as he looked over at Arion, only to see a look of dubiousness at his taste in friends.

                “You’ll like ‘em, Mírë,” he said, “I promise.” Arion stifled a snort, and pursed his lips in an attempt to suppress his smile.

                “Bucky!” Dugan bellowed drunkenly, “who’s the pretty dame?” Bucky glanced over at Steve who had taken his attention from the drink in his hand where he leaned on the piano, and caught Bucky’s eye. Bucky did a silent gesture with his eyes toward Arion to get Steve to look, and when he did and looked back at Bucky, the brunette waggled his eyebrows up and down in a very suggestive manner. Steve huffed out a soft breath of laughter, before he set down his drink and walked over to his friend.

                “Dugan,” he said slowly and warningly, “watch it.” The order was soft and more of a suggestion, but the commandoes all knew Steve’s propensity for being a gentleman in front of the fairer sex; so they all took it to heart to watch their manners and sober up a little; or else he won’t be buying drinks for a while. Dugan sat his drink down and the others followed suit, directing their attention to Bucky and their Captain. “Hey, Bucky, who’s your lady friend?”

Arion smirked demurely and glanced over at Steve under hooded eyes.

                “Why, Captain,” he said in a feminine, yet husky voice, “I would have thought that you’d recognize me.” Steve’s eyes widened and he nearly lost his grip on his glass, when he recognized the voice; high-pitched though it was.  He sat the glass down on the table next to Morita’s arm, and moved to get a really good look at the bombshell beauty on Bucky’s arm. The rest of the Commandoes were no better at hiding their shock; eyes widened and jaws almost on the floor, as they looked around or over Steve’s massive form to get a look at ‘her’. Steven laughed at the ridiculousness of the image and started giggling behind his hand. Steve’s stern face and raised eyebrow, forced him to stifle his giggles into the occasional snort behind thinly pressed lips and a suppressed smile.

                “Arion,” Steve stumbled over the name softly.

                “It’s Míriel now, actually,” he answered. Steve looked at his friend with wariness that came from months of having to hide things from others for Bucky and his own protective streak. Bucky smiled back with a look of joy that Steve had thought gone from his friend’s eyes. “James was just telling me about your job in the Army. Taking down rogue Nazis; how exciting! You must have some wonderful stories to tell. I only wish I could do that, but alas, I cannot.” Steve smirked at the spy and gave him a look that said ‘well played’ before Bucky pulled out a seat for the elf to sit down.

                “So, what do you do, Míriel?” Steve said coolly and professionally. Bucky glared at Steve for the mock politeness. Steve just gave him a professional blank look in return, not going to rise to the bait.

                “Don’t tell anyone this, but,” he said demurely and bit his lip as he glanced about before finishing. “I work for British Intelligence.”

                “British Intelligence?” Steve asked dubiously.

                “Yes,” Arion answered. “No one would ever suspect a woman as a spy, let alone a German woman. It’s the perfect cover, Captain.”

                “Why go against your own country?” Steve continued his impromptu interrogation. Bucky glared even harder at Steve, with a flinty look he usually reserved for the jerks that bullied Steve. But Steve just raised his eyebrow in innocence. “It’s a valid question, Bucky.” the Commandoes looked back and forth between their Captain and the Spy with Bucky.

                “This is better than going to the theatre, or radio drama,” Morita said as he picked up a handful of peanuts. The others did the same, and waited for the spy’s response. Arion’s face shuttered and went blank, and as cold as marble, his eyes hard as steel.

                “I have no love for the Nazis,” he said coldly and calmly, a hint of a sneer on his lips. “They take what they choose and please, and when they are through, they hurt more than they have helped. As far as I am concerned, they are no better than the school yard bully; and I detest bullies!” Steve’s face remained closed before it softened, when he saw no trace of a lie on Arion’s face. Steve looked at Bucky and saw a look of admiration and respect directed at the elf.

                “Okay,” Steve said with a far warmer tone. Steve turned around and saw the Commandoes all gathered together and staring at them. “What are you all lookin’ at?” he asked with a perplexed look on his face. And just like that, the men snapped back to their drinks, faces down and eyes away from their Captain and Sergeant.

It was finally all too much for Steven and he broke down into howling laughter; clutching his sides and belly as tears of mirth ran down his cheeks. Steve looked at his lieutenant with bewilderment before realizing that the Commandoes were snorting laughter into their drinks. He looked at Bucky and Arion, and Bucky looked at the elf. Arion seemed to realize the peculiar scene they just made for he started chuckling and Bucky finally caught on.  He slapped his hand over his eyes and groaned at the embarrassment that brought a blush to his cheeks, and then began to helplessly snort and giggle at the hilarity of the situation. Steve looked at all his friends and shield brethren as if they had all cracked until the scene played out in his memory for a second and he realized he was just interrogating Bucky’s, for a lack of a better word, boyfriend as if Bucky was his little sister in need of protection. Steve groaned and started to helplessly chuckle and laugh. This was how Stark found them moments later, returning with more drinks, laughing hysterically at something he’d missed.

Steve looked up at Bucky, when he started to regain his breath and started. Bucky had changed. He had grown so used to the somber and silent look on his best friend’s face that, when faced with this look of joy and carefree levity that he had seen for years on Bucky, he hardly recognized him. Bucky was leaning on Arion’s shoulder, laughing helplessly and grinning like a loon. There was a light to his smile that Steve had not seen before, a type of lighthearted joy that had never graced Bucky’s face or lit his eyes. With a jolt Steve realized what it was: love. Bucky was in love! Well and truly fallen, if the look in his eyes when he gazed at Arion was anything to go by. And it looked mutual, because Arion was smiling with love and devotion at Bucky. Bucky is carefree around him, and being the man Steve knew him to be, being himself around someone else besides his family and Steve.

The shadowed look in Bucky’s eyes leaves, when Bucky looked at Arion, at his Mírë, and there is true laughter in his voice when ‘she’ said something in his ear and Bucky cracked up into helpless laughter again. Steve sees this and more in Bucky’s body language. The way he relaxed and the smiles he put forth don’t seem fragile and false. Steven looked at his Ada and saw the change too, and he smiled wide and bright at his Ada’s joy and love. The two of them realized together that Bucky is happy; well and truly happy, for the first time in months, if not years. Maybe since the last day Steve saw him at the fair.

Finally the group began to calm down and their giggles and helpless roaring laughter was reduced to the occasional breathless chuckle. Howard walked up to the group with the last round of drinks and sat them down on the table before eyeing the blond, practically glued to Bucky’s side.

                “Hi there,” he said layering on the charm. “And what’s your name?” Arion looked up at Stark with a raised eyebrow and expression that all but said, ‘really, you’re hitting on me?’ Now Bucky’d had enough drinks to be slightly warm, but not drunk, and he was not about to let Howard Stark hit on the one person in the room that had only eyes for him; and not Steve.

                “Stark,” he said in a low growl, “you might want to reconsider your intelligence if you’re hitting on my date. Buzz off, before I do something I’ll regret in the morning.” The thinly veiled threat cut through Howard’s alcohol buzz and he got sober, real quick-like. The Millionaire inventor backed away real slowly with his hands held up in surrender, not wanting to make Barnes mad at him.

                “Well,” he said, “I think I’ve had more than enough drinks tonight. I’ll just head on back to base. See you all there for briefing and weapon’s check in the morning!” at his cheerful exclamation the Commandoes all groaned, and finished off what was left of their beers. Bucky, on the other hand, stood up and offered Arion his hand.

                “I know it isn’t as late as Howard was makin’ it out to be,” he said as he helped Arion to his feet. They were almost even in height with Bucky wearing his boots and Arion in low heels. “I was thinkin’ that we could go out and have somethin’ to eat.” Arion smiled warmly and looked at him from under his dark long lashes.

                “Why, James,” he asked coyly, “are you asking me out on a date?” Bucky flushed and shuffled his feet before looking up bashfully, and giving him his best shy school boy look.

                “Dinner, maybe,” he said. “And if it’s not too late, we could go dancing.” Arion smiled brightly.

                “I’d love to, James,” he said and Bucky grinned.

                “Great! I know this lovely little dance club that we could go to, that play’s live music on occasion and plenty of the best songs from New York.” Arion threaded his arm through Bucky’s and gently pulled him toward the exit.

                “It sounds lovely,” he said softly. “Und perhaps a nightcap?”

                “Yeah,” Bucky squeaked, in high falsetto before he cleared his throat and swallowed past the dryness of his mouth. “Yeah, that sounds great.” Arion giggled and leaned into his side as they left the bar into the cool evening air.

                “Good,” he said, “your place. Mine is not ready for living in yet.” Bucky found his mouth very dry at the possible suggestion hidden in that statement.

                “Okay,” he said with a bright red flush. If Steve could have seen his face at that moment, he would have been laughing himself until his sides hurt; his face was so flushed.

                “Und perhaps we could,” Arion paused and leaned into Bucky’s ear to whisper, “pick up where we left off, ja?” Bucky’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he tugged his collar and tie loose to breathe a little better. He licked his dry lips nervously, and chuckled.

                “If we do that,” he said with false bravado, “we’re gonna need a lot of rubbers.” Bucky could feel Arion smile into his ear.

                “Already taken care of,” he said in a soft husky voice. Bucky swallowed down his excitement and grinned.

                “Oh boy!” ~*~*~

~*~**~*

* * *

 

Bucky could barely contain himself at dinner, watching Arion eat like some dainty thing. He wanted to reach over the table and pull him into a kiss that would be absolutely scandalous in public. Bucky showed his quality of restraint, and refrained from even touching Arion during their light dinner; though Arion didn’t exactly make it easy, rubbing his foot up and down Bucky’s own and driving him absolutely wild with need. The dancing seemed to take his mind off the wild want burning in his veins like he was a young teen again, getting his first glimpse at a pretty girl. Bucky and Arion were the stars of the dance floor as they whirled and twirled around the room to the loud music. Bucky finally got the chance to show off his best moves to someone he really liked, and he did so with vigor; his feet a blur on the dance floor and he moved with all the grace of a practiced dancer. He even brought out some of his more classical moves he’d learned from his two years of dance lessons his grandparents insisted on him taking, just to impress his date. Arion grinned and giggled as Bucky spun him around and out and then back in so that their arms were crossed over Arion’s middle and Arion was swaying to the music with his back to Bucky’s chest.

Bucky almost wished the night could have gone on forever, but the sun was beginning to set and Bucky was even more eager for that nightcap of theirs. Ever the gentleman that his mother insisted on, Bucky retrieved their coats and hand in hand they walked back to base. The cool London air brought a shiver to the two and Bucky put his arm around Arion and drew him into his side to share his warmth. If anyone had seen the two of them in this embrace, they would have seen a young couple so very much in love; one a soldier about to go back to war, and the other a beautiful young lady dressed in a glamorous gown. Once back at the shared apartment that Bucky shared with Steven and Steve and the rest of the commandoes, Bucky had barely gotten the door unlocked when Arion jumped him like a panther; shoving the door open and into the wall as he devoured Bucky’s mouth in long deep, and open mouthed kisses.

It was primal. Arion was biting and sucking on every inch of skin revealed and Bucky could only gasp and moan, as he tried to push the door closed without breaking contact with the other. He finally closed the door only to be shoved against it as Arion again began to ravish the sergeant. Bucky let out a long low moan, when Arion found that spot on his neck that just drove him wild. Arion pushed at his shoulders, and tugged at his lapel for a moment before Bucky pulled off the door and began the long process of shucking his clothes. The coat went first, tossed onto the rack, and only barely staying. Next went his shoes, toed off while Arion pulled him by his tie towards the sofa. Bucky chased his lips, and pushed Arion’s own coat off his shoulders; leaving it on the back of the couch, before Arion pulled away.

Bucky stood dumbstruck for a moment, before Arion coyly bit his lip and crooked his finger to draw him to the closest room with a door; which also happened to be Bucky’s room, that he shared with Dugan and Morita. The look of ‘come hither’ was so strong Bucky’s knees were shaking. Bucky lowered his stance and with a wicked grin he pounced. Arion shrieked with laughter, when Bucky grabbed him by the waist and hauled him over his shoulder before depositing him on Bucky’s bed. Arion had lost his pumps somewhere in the other room, and his left leg poked through the long slit on the skirt of the dress, and bent seductively; pulling up the fabric and revealing the garter belt and the long lacy cuff of the stockings. The look was mouthwateringly sensual and so sexy that Bucky was hard just from the sight of it alone.

Bucky looked up at Arion’s face and saw him smile seductively through dark lashes. Bucky slammed the door closed behind him with his foot and pulled off his tie, before stripping down to only his trousers. He had just about finished with the belt when Arion had enough of the sight and pulled Bucky down by his belt loops.

                “Whoa!” Bucky exclaimed at the downward force, and before he knew it he was on his back and Arion was straddling his hips. With a breathy moan he ran his hands up the back of the dress and found the buttons holding it together. Let me tell you this, Bucky’s fingers were never nimbler than when he was undoing the buttons going up the back of the dress. Within a minute he was pushing the cloth off Arion’s shoulders and unfastening the clasps for the bra. The corset was new enough that instead of lacing up the front and back, there was a zipper with a clasp at the top holding the front together and only lacing on the back and sides.

                “Oh, God,” Bucky moaned when the corset was finally gone and he gazed upon the expanse of pale creamy skin under his hands. Arion grinned wickedly and began to undo Bucky’s trousers. Bucky lost time for a moment as his eyes rolled back into his head in ecstasy, and before he knew it his trousers were gone and so were his boxers. Bucky looked down and instead of straddling his waist, Arion was between his legs and Bucky had hooked his ankles around Arion’s back.

                “I promise,” Arion said in his normal voice, but still husky with desire all the same, “I will make this feel good.” ****~*~*~*

~**~*~***~

* * *

 

The commandoes had spent most of the evening having some out on the town fun before they decided they would turn in for the night. They came back to the apartment and found Bucky’s jacket and shoes haphazardly dropped around the main room, and a strange coat on the sofa. Steve looked at the others in confusion before he heard it: a long low moan coming from Bucky’s room. Steve looked at his unit in confusion and a little bit of fear, before he swallowed and quickly moved to the door.

Steven moved to stand right behind him and the Commandoes lingered near enough to render assistance. Steve motioned to Steven to hold back a little and held up his finger.

                “On my count,” he whispered, and held up three fingers. Another long moan came from behind the door, as Steve grasped the handle, followed by a breathy gasp. “One…” the moaning got louder, and Steve steeled himself, “two…” Steve turned the handle, “three!” and he threw the door open. ~**~*

~*~**

* * *

 

Bucky and Arion were just reaching their climax, and Bucky was being very vocal about how much he was enjoying it, when the door suddenly flung open. Bucky started and so did Arion, unfortunately it jolted into just the right spot and all Bucky saw for a moment was Steve’s stunned face before everything went white, and he came with a long loud moan.

Steve was shocked to stillness at the sight of the two of them entwined together; Bucky with his legs wrapped around Arion’s hips and Arion gripping Bucky’s exposed thighs with his head thrown back in ecstasy. A jolt of mortification zinged down Steve’s spine, when his brain caught up with his eyes.

                “ _OH_!” he squawked, “ ** _GOD_**!” and slapped his hand over his eyes. In his moment of shock he had released the door handle, and so in forced blindness he groped for the knob before he grasped it and pulled the door shut as fast as he could. Steve let his hand drop to cover his gaping mouth. His cheeks flamed bright red in his complete mortification as having caught his best friend in bed with his lover. His wide eyes were wide and white, and he looked like a spooked deer as he met the eyes of his teammates. All of the Commandoes were wearing varying shades of red on their face but equal amounts of mortified shock. Steven’s face was as white as a sheet while he had two bright red spots high on his cheeks, showing that he was both horrified and embarrassed by what he had just witnessed.

                “I did not just see that,” Steve said in a high and nervous falsetto, and his face flushed an even brighter red. “Please tell me I didn’t just see that?” he begged, helplessly but the others just nodded yes that he did, “Oh, GOD!” he moaned in mortified despair.

Seconds later, there came an indignant squawk from behind the door. Steve and the others quickly left the front of the door to stand in the main room. Two seconds later the door was flung open, and in the doorway stood Bucky in all his post-coital glory, in naught but his trousers. His cheeks were flushed red and his chest was glistening with sweat, and there was a look of embarrassment mixed with fury in his eyes that had each and every one of the Commandoes gulping nervously where they stood. Bucky shook with barely restrained rage, as he glared down each Commando with his signature killing face, before his eyes set on Steve. Steve, if it was even possible, flushed even redder under Bucky’s scrutiny, and swallowed down a lump in his throat before trying to smile innocently, and failing miserably.

                “You… _you_ … ** _YOU_** ,” Bucky fumed before he screeched loudly, “IF THE DOOR’S CLOSED, YOU _PUNK_ , **_KNOCK, BEFORE YOU OPEN IT! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU HEAR!_** ” Steve’s eyes widened in innocent shock at being yelled at, before Bucky grumbled in a more calm voice, “first time I’ve gotten anything in months and what do you do? _You barge into like my room’s **a HYDRA base**_ and interrupt just when I’m actually getting a good _FUCK_!”

                “Bucky, Language!” Steve said in shocked habit. “And you, what about me?” Steve challenged and pushed down his embarrassment, to stand up with a squared jaw of determination. “How do you think I feel; walkin’ in on you like that? I’m scarred for life! I did not need to see my best friend getting … screwed!” Steven let out a hysterical snort behind his hand; mostly over his shock at seeing his parents in that position, but still slightly amused at the Captain and his Sergeant arguing like an old couple.

Bucky and Steve turned their glares on him and Steven couldn’t help it, he burst out into helpless hysterical laughter. Steve and Bucky looked at him as if he had grown a second head, before the rest of the Commandoes started laughing themselves. Steve huffed out a breathy giggle and Bucky, once he realized the ridiculousness of the situation and the hilarity, burst out into a bout of deep bellied laughter. The ringing sound of laughter from the room behind Bucky indicated Arion found the situation funny as well and started laughing along with the others. After a moment of silly laughing, Bucky clutched his belly and leaned on the wall as he tried to regain composure.

                “We are to never speak of this happening, again,” Bucky said breathlessly. “It never happened!” Steve nodded from his position leaning over the back of the couch as he wiped away his tears of laughter.

                “Sure, Buck,” he said between heavy breaths, “but still…” and he broke into helpless laughter again. “You’re usually more discreet than that, Bucky!”

                “Next time, I’ll put my tie on the doorknob,” Bucky grumbled sarcastically with a half-smile.

                “You do that, Buck,” Steve giggled and took a deep breath and finally regained his composure. “You do that. Or you could leave a note.” Bucky looked at Steve with incredulousness before he turned to lightly bang his forehead on the wall.

                “A note,” he groaned with a huff, “a note he says. Steven, you are to never be like your uncle; he’s just plain stupid. Take after your father; he’s the more practical one.”

                “I wouldn’t know.” Steven giggled and grinned, “I’ve never met him.” Bucky flipped his hand off in the vague direction of the room.

                “Well,” he sighed, “he’s in there. Go talk to him.” Steven looked at his Ada with a look of shock and yearning. Bucky glanced over and saw it and smiled. “Go talk to yer dad, sweetheart. I’m sure it would make him happy.” Steven grinned and happily slipped by his Ada to talk to Arion, but not before pressing a quick peck of a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s face dropped into shock before a soft smiled graced his face as he looked over his shoulder into the bedroom. After a moment he looked back at the Commandoes and Steve with a stony look. “You didn’t see anything, and it never happened! Got it?” with a stern look from Steve backing him up, the Commandoes all sobered and nodded; crossing their hearts.

Each and every one of those Commandoes would take Steve and Bucky’s secrets to their graves, willingly, for they all came to love the pair like family; and nothing would keep them from protecting their little unit. Heaven help the ones that tried to tear them apart because it wouldn’t be Bucky or Steve they would have to worry about: it would be the Commandoes in all their Howling ferocity. ~**~

~**~*

* * *

 

Bucky continued his affair with Arion after that, just more discretely, and Steven got to know the man that sired him. Arion was charming and kind, full of life and brightness, and protective as hell of those he loved. He loved literature and ancient cultures, and much like Steven he had a love of art and things made with the hands; a very un-Vanyarin trait but it brought the father and son closer together. Arion learned of Steven’s gifts and he even helped him hone his skill of mind-speak (telepathic conversing) until there were none that could match Steven. His gift of Healing was greeted with awe and pride, and Arion gladly trained him in that as well, until the boy surpassed even his skill.

Bucky continued his dates with Arion, though they no longer came back from them all hot and heavy; yearning for release. By the time Bucky and the Commandoes left back to the front, the two had grown madly in love. With a promise of dancing when he returned, Bucky left Arion’s new apartment to go to the briefing on their next mission; and to take place in some preliminary planning for a new and big battle called Operation Overlord: the invasion of Europe.

D-Day loomed over the heads of the Commandoes and the allied forces like a dark cloud. The preparation and planning of the major forces of the Allies could not discount the efforts taken by the SSR and, of course, Captain Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandoes. Steve kept his unit on a razor edge with training and mission preparation. Bucky trained day and night to hone his skill with a sniper rifle, and in hand to hand combat. HYDRA fanatics were easy targets because they believed themselves invincible, but the Nazis knew their limits and would fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground; just like in Italy. Steven honed his own powers until he could pull off things that looked like outright magic, and sorcery. He honed his skill with moving objects until it came to the point of him being able to move even the matter of the thing he was controlling, and reshaping it to his will.

Then the word was ‘now’, on the day least expected: June 6th. The invasion was on! Bucky, Steve and the rest of the Commandoes were loaded onto a landing craft headed for Utah beach. At dawn, on June 6th, Captain America and the Howling Commandoes landed and unleashed hell!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning this next chapter has a lot of Silmarillion based stuff in it. and it is long, like 20 pages long, sorry!  
> it is part of the Fire of the Great War story. if you want to read it, it is here, not finished, but i think i might take a second look at it now.


	13. Distant Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a very long chapter and I am so sorry to all of you out there that just want Cap and Bucky stuff, but this is important.
> 
> Steve learns a little bit about his biology that he hadn't known about.  
> 100,000 words!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An: sorry about the length of the last chapter. This one will most likely reach the 100 thousand mark, so Yay! This chapter is the crossover with that unfinished story I spoke of earlier to those that followed my outline updates. Here’s the sum of it: this is a crossover with my Fire of the Great War story. They are both in the same universe, and this chapter could be part of that one. I need to finish it, and I will. Also, this is a Crossover with the Silmarillion here so for those of you who don’t know it, I’ll give you the cliff notes version: Fëanor has a half-brother he had a spat with named Nolofinwë Fingolfin. Nolofinwë has a full brother named Arafinwë. The half-brothers of Fëanor have sons. Nolofinwë’s are: Findekáno, Turukáno, and Arakáno (Fingon the Valiant, Turgon the Wise, and Argon). Arafinwë’s are: Findaráto Ingoldo, Angaráto, and Aikanáro (Finrod Felagund, Angrod, and Aegnor). Both Nolofinwë and Arafinwë and daughters: Irissë (Aredhel) and Artanis (Galadriel) respectfully. Fëanor has seven sons: Nelyafinwë Maitimo, Canafinwë Makalaurë, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, Morifinwë Carnistir, Curufinwë Atarinkë, Telufinwë Ambarto, and Pityafinwë Ambarussa (Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras).Curufin has a son named Telperinquar (Celebrimbor). This is as much as I can give for background without detail. Look them up if you want more.

~*~*~*---------------

* * *

 

It is months after Steve and the Commandoes liberated Lt Col Noldorean from his imprisonment, before Steve finally asked Bucky what had happened to the Noldo. Bucky and the commandoes remembered Steve’s kneejerk reaction to the atrocities of that camp and thus he was reluctant to tell him the truth. He avoided the subject and evaded the answer as much as he could. Steve let him. After all it was only morbid curiosity that made him ask, so he dropped the subject when Bucky clammed up. It wasn’t until word reached the Commandoes that the now full bird Col Noldorean had vanished with a large portion of the battalion, he was put in charge of by both the American’s and British armies, along with his second the now Lt Col DuLake, that Steve really pushed for an answer.

Bucky was reluctant to tell. Arion had told him that while he was in the SS as a deep cover spy for SIS he had done terrible things for the Nazis all of which he regretted; but most of all what had happened at that concentration and prison camp with Fëanor. It was the reason Fëanor couldn’t stand Arion’s presence on the plane ride back to London. Bucky looked up at Steve, and found he had no desire to darken Steve’s innocence even more than it already was, nor break down his spirit.

                “Steve,” he said with an honest and caring look, “trust me, you don’t wanna know.” Steve looked mutinous for a moment before Bucky stopped him. “Really, Steve, it is best you don’t.” Bucky’s concern and worry must have broken through Steve’s typical stubbornness, because he dropped the subject completely. Bucky was really sad that he had to keep such a secret from Steve about his lover/husband, but Arion was barely accepted by the blond Captain and Bucky didn’t want to have to choose between the two people in his life he cared about the most. ~*~*~*

~~**~*

* * *

 

They’re in London on leave, when they get the news. They were all enjoying their leave at a bar, drinking and making merry, when Bucky overheard one of the British soldiers mention Fëanor. Normally Bucky wasn’t an eavesdropper but curiosity got the better of him. He turned slightly towards the other men, and listened in; and what they had to say, nearly made him drop his drink in shock.

                “Didn’t you hear,” the man said to his mate. “Col Noldorean came back, along with all of those missing men. They swore up and down they were gone for months, and that ain’t the half of it. That Col came back with a baby!”

                “A baby,” his drinking buddy exclaimed. “Where would he get a baby?” this friend shrugged and gulped down another mouthful of beer.

                “He swears it’s his,” he said and belched loudly. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the kid for myself. Just as tiny and new as any baby, and he’s got his daddy’s ears.” The man laughed loudly, and his buddy joined him for a moment. “His aide said he was their when the little tike was born, and I know Joshua: he’s no flake. He doesn’t lie to save anyone’s skin, not even his friends’.” Another gulp of beer made the man’s speech slurred, but Bucky could understand; and he noted that Steve and the others were listening in as well. “You should’ve seen the way the Col was with that baby. He’s all tender and mushy, like they melted all that steel in his guts to soup. He smiled; actually smiled! I never knew the guy could smile. It’s actually a pretty smile, hick… makes him look nice… hick!”

Bucky turned back to Steve and the others and met their eyes with shocked understanding. Steve looked grim and had that furrow in his brow that he usually got when he wanted to ask a question, but his moral properness prevented him from asking until he was in private. Bucky shot him a look that said to drop it, and with a petulant look Steve did; for the moment. Bucky stood up once Arion arrived for their date, and Steve followed them back out to the side entrance. Steve pulled him aside and finally asked that he had been chewing on.

                “Did you know Fëanor was like you, Bucky?” he asked, Bucky nodded in silent answer. “Who’s the father?” Bucky didn’t meet Steve’s eyes and when he didn’t hear anything from him, he looked up and saw Steve’s pale and understanding face. “It’s Arion, isn’t it?”

                “Yeah,” Bucky answered meekly as he looked down at his shoes. After a moment he gathered the courage to explain. “You wanted to know what had happened in that camp, Steve. Well, now you know. Steve, Arion did a lot of things for the bad guys that he didn’t want to do because he was under orders. I know it doesn’t justify it or anything, but Arion is just as much a victim of this as Fëanor is. Do you think he wanted to do those things? No! But, Stevie, he had no choice! He regrets it, he really does, but he can’t do anything more to make up for it than he already has.”

Steve looked sorrowful and sad when he looked over at Arion in his lovely pale blue dress. The fashion was a little more modern with less sparkle and more lace, but it still made him into a knock-out. Steve could understand Bucky’s desire to protect him so he held his pain in, and smiled sadly at Arion. The elf smiled back knowingly and waved. Steve turned back to Bucky, who was wringing his hands and licking his lips in nervousness, and put on one of his dis-alarming smiles: one Bucky saw right through, but was too relieved to care.

                “Are we still on for our double date, Steve,” Bucky asked timidly and Steve nodded. Before he could answer, Peggy walked into the alley in a stunning red number that made Steve all tingly inside. Bucky’s grin turned charming and playful as he nudged Steve closer to his date. Taking Arion’s arm in the crook of his elbow, he grinned and said, “Well, let’s get a move on before all the good tables are gone.”

Steve offered Peggy his arm and she took it with an endearing smile. Bucky laughed out loud and lead the way to their venue for their dates. It was a nice lively club, with a small band and a dance floor, and Steve knew why Bucky had chosen it for their date. It may not have been as nice as his and Arion’s first dance hall, but it was Bucky’s oh so subtle way of nudging Steve to loosen up and dance with Peggy for one evening. Steve took one look at the dance floor and turned his childish glare on his friend. Luckily Bucky was immune to Steve’s heated glares or else he would have been a pile of ash on the ground if his look could kill. Bucky ignored the look and pulled his date over to a free table, and Steve followed with Peggy on his arm.

Steve sat down after pulling out Peggy’s seat, and waited for a waiter to serve them. Bucky didn’t seem so inclined to do such a thing, and tossed his jacket over the back of his chair before smiling rakishly and nodding toward the dance floor.

                “Bucky,” Steve exclaimed, “where are you going?”

                “Dancing,” was Bucky’s only answer before he and Arion moved onto the floor for the next dance. Steve glared at Bucky’s retreating form with annoyance, but turned back to Peggy.

                “Sorry about Bucky,” he said, “he can be a little over excitable about dancing with a pretty partner.” Peggy gave him that smile of hers that was demure and sophisticated all at once. It made Steve hot under the collar to be under the scrutiny of that gaze again, so he swallowed and motioned for the waiter. “Do you want a drink?” Peggy didn’t answer but her smile grew a little, so Steve took that as a yes and ordered four waters.

Steve gulped down half his glass before Bucky returned to the table with Arion in tow. The two were flushed and smiling when they sat down, and gulped down their drinks quickly.

                “You sure you don’t wanna dance, Steve,” Bucky asked. Steve smiled tightly, shook his head, and grunted in pain. Bucky’s smile fled at the sight of Steve in pain. “Steve, are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Steve wrapped his arms around his middle in answer, and Bucky knew the date was over.

* * *

 

!*~*~*~*~100,000~*~*~*~*!

* * *

 

Getting back to base was an adventure that Steve and Bucky did not ever want to repeat. Bucky called for a car to come pick them up, all the while holding Steve upright as he doubled over with his arms wrapped around his middle. Bucky tried to bring up the levity of the situation with a joke, and everyone else seemed to like it.

                “You know, Steve,” he said teasingly, “most of the time it’s the girl that hedges off dinner with being sick, but it’s usually from a headache not a bellyache.” Peggy suppressed a smile into her hand, and Arion smiled, while Bucky chuckled nervously at his joke. Steve chuckled himself for a second before stopping with a sharp gasp and a groan.

                “Please don’t make me laugh, Bucky,” he whimpered under strained laughter. “It hurts!” Bucky pulled Steve into his side like he used to back in Brooklyn and waited for the car to pull up to the curb.

When the car pulled up Steve was gently manhandled into the back seat, while Bucky sat beside him with Peggy gently stroking his hair off his forehead. Tiny droplets of sweat beaded up in his brow with the pain, and made him look ill under the weak lamplights on the street. Arion climbed into the front and told the young soldier to drive them back to base. The kid’s wide eyes were on Steve for a moment when he realized it was Captain America in his car, before he registered the order and took off back for base like the devil himself was chasing after them.

                “Hey! Take it easy,” Bucky groused as they jostled over the uneven pavement. Steve whined and whimpered, and curled up into a ball around his belly; before something protested and he twitched his leg out straight. He curled into Bucky’s chest and panted through the pain. Bucky looked over Steve’s head at Peggy, who looked just as worried as he about Steve. Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve’s back to sooth him out of his fetal position.

                “You’ll be alright, love,” Peggy crooned to Steve as she rubbed some of the sweat off his face. “We’ll have the doctor’s take a look at you and they’ll give you something for the pain. Wouldn’t you like that?” Steve nodded weakly and continued to breathe heavily through his nose. He shifted his legs again and Bucky noticed.

                “What’s wrong, Steve” he asked gently. “Why do you keep moving your legs like that?”

                “’cause it hurts!” he whined and moved his leg up to his chest. Bucky looked up at Peggy and silently asked her to have the car go faster.

                “Driver,” she said sternly, brooking no argument, “take us to the medical ward on base. We’ll need to take Captain Rogers there. And do go a little faster, we’re wasting time.” The soldier nodded and picked up the pace.

They arrived at the med ward just as Steve was beginning to curl up again and silently sob. Peggy and Arion climbed out first leaving Steve and Bucky tangled together. Bucky tried to pry Steve away from him to no avail, so he gathered Steve up as best he could and carried him out of the car. Bucky grunted from the weight of his load but didn’t drop him or fall. He stumbled a bit before he found his footing, and as gracefully as he could, so as to not jostle Steve, he carried him into the building. The nurses and Doctors lingering about at the station all snapped to when Bucky kicked open the door and marched in with Steve curled up like a little ball in his arms.

                “I need some help here,” he hollered, and a nurse grabbed a gurney for Steve to lie on. Bucky gently laid him on the mattress and took a deep breath in relief over the weight being gone from his arms.

                “What happened,” the head doctor asked, as he shone a light into Steve’s eyes.

                “I don’t know,” Bucky said helplessly. “We were all goin’ to go dancin’, and then Steve just doubled over. He said his belly hurts, but he won’t tell me more. And he keeps shifting his legs around, like he can’t get comfortable.” The Doctor looked puzzled, and pondered this for a moment.

                “Doctor,” Peggy interrupted his thinking. “Are you up to date on Captain Rogers’ medical file, and the possible conditions he could develop?” Bucky and Arion both shot Peggy identical looks of confusion and worry.

                “Pegs, what are you thinkin’?” Bucky asked. Peggy looked back at him with pure professionalism.

                “I think this might have something to do with Steve’s preexisting anatomy, and his unique genetic biology,” Peggy said, as she hedged around the subject. After a second, the light bulb went on in Bucky’s head as he was filled with understanding. The Doctor nodded and called for a nurse to bring Steve’s updated file.

                “You think Steve might be… like me?” he asked discreetly, and Peggy nodded.

Bucky blew out a long breath and seemed to deflate before her eyes. For the first time she saw a helpless man, whose only hope for his friend’s survival was prayer. This was the first time she glimpsed behind the carefully wrought veil of smiles and charm Bucky had created and saw the caring and compassionate man underneath.  Peggy smiled at him, when he glanced over in worry; giving him some small comfort.

                “Alright, Captain?” the doctor said to Steve, “We’re going to take you into exam room 3 and get a look at what’s going on down there, okay?” Steve nodded in answer and they wheeled him away to the examination rooms. The doors opened and closed behind them, flopping back and forth on their hinges for a moment before stilling. A nurse entered the room with a thick file in hand, and didn’t emerge.

Bucky stood awkwardly in the admittance room with Peggy and Arion before he realized that they should probably wait it out in the dreaded waiting room. A moment later a nurse emerged and motioned them to follow her. The three smiled thankfully and followed the woman into a cheerful waiting room with chairs and a table. At least it was supposed to be cheerful, but all it did was bring back those painful memories of sitting for hours on end waiting for news about Steve’s condition. The fact that he was, again, waiting for news about Steve in a room like this was not lost on him, nor did it amuse him. In fact, it irritated him and made him a bundle of knotted nerves. He thought he had left these days behind, when Steve came into that camp looking like Hitler’s wet dream.

He sat down in the chair nearest the door, just as he’d always done, and worried his hands in his lap. Arion sat down beside him and tentatively reached out his hand to touch Bucky’s. Bucky quickly grasped the hand in his own and threaded his fingers with Arion’s, giving them a squeeze. Arion squeezed them back and smiled reassuringly at Bucky when he looked up at him.

                “I’m sure Steve is alright,” he said calmly. Bucky pursed his lips and sucked on them, before he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He nodded, and smiled weakly to try and reassure Arion that he was fine. Arion didn’t believe his act for one second, but let him have his pride; if only to keep him from breaking down into tears. The room fell into silence, after that, only broken by the occasional murmur outside the door.

The quiet dragged on in the room, brining an oppressiveness to it that seemed to sap all their hopes and prayers with it. Then, quite suddenly, the silence was broken by the door opening. Bucky leaped to his feet, expecting the doctor to be there to inform them of what was going on. Instead it was Stark, looking for all as if he was in some great rush to be somewhere.

                “what are you doin’ here, Stark,” Bucky asked in irritation.

                “Steve was admitted for abdominal pains,” he said, and Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow for him to continue. “I’m one of the few people alive that worked with Erskine on the Project, so they called me in when Steve was admitted. It might have something to do with the fact that, before the Serum, Rogers’ swimmers were non-existent, and now he’s as virile as a horse. The stuff cured everything wrong with him.”

Bucky’s his jaw dropped at the flippant mention that Steve was sterile before Erskine’s Serum, and his brows creased in thought. He didn’t know that Steve was Sterile. Sure he knew that the doc’s had told him that he wouldn’t be able to have kids, but he had thought it was because of his weak heart and lungs, not that he was physically incapable of it. Bucky was just about to call Stark out on it, when the Doctor entered the waiting room. Bucky stood up straighter and looked at him, while he wrapped his hand around Arion’s again for support. The Doctor started at Stark’s presence before a type of relieved gratefulness bloomed over his face. He turned to Bucky and began his explanation.

                “Sergeant Barnes, I take it?” he asked, and Bucky nodded; eager to get on with all the explaining. “The reason Captain Rogers was in pain, was because… well because he was having his first menstruation.” Bucky turned bright red, when he realized where this was going. “Actually, he was ovulating. Still is, in fact, but his birth canal just opened, so we assume that menstruation is not far off. He’s fine, if a little embarrassed about this, and we have given him some medication to help with the cramping.” Stark got that wild look of pure fascination on his face, and it made Bucky more than a little nervous.

                “Mind if I talk to him,” he asked. “This is incredible! If we can actually prove that the Serum altered Rogers’ genes right down to his reproductive cells, we might not have to start from scratch with the Serum.” Stark’s eyes got manic and Bucky thought that if ever someone was to worry about anyone going mad scientist, it was Stark you would have to worry about. “If I got a sample of his reproductive cells, I could study it, and we might get a breakthrough in the Serum; might also find a way to cure some hereditary diseases.” A mad grin curled his lips and Bucky felt his hackles rise in protectiveness.

                “Thanks for the update, doc,” Bucky said, “is he okay to have visitors?”

                “Oh, yes, perfectly fine,” the doctor said. Bucky nodded and moved to walk out of the room when he stopped, realizing that the doctor addressed him first. “Hey doc, why did you tell me about Steve?”

                “Oh,” he exclaimed, genuinely shocked, “Captain Rogers labeled you as his next of kin for his medical proxy, and said to have you put on to make his medical decisions if he couldn’t.” Bucky stood there dumbstruck for a moment before he melted inside and smiled softly. “I take it you didn’t know?”

“No,” Bucky said as he shook his head. “No, I didn’t.” with a brittle smile, he left the room and entered the hall to find Steve. Arion joined him a second later, with Peggy and Stark right on their heels.

                “Steve is in room 107,” Arion said and Bucky had to grin at the irony of that. Bucky entered the room and saw Steve lounging on the bed with a hot water bottle on his lower belly. He smiled weakly and Bucky moved to take the chair by his bed.

                “How many people know,” he asked.

                “Just us, for now,” Bucky answered. “You okay, Steve?” Steve smiled at Bucky’s fretting and relaxed into his bed; careful to keep the bottle on his belly.

                “Yeah,” he answered. “Just a little sore and aching in places I didn’t want to know I had.” Bucky laughed at that, and let some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

                “You’ll be fine,” Bucky reassured, “you’ll feel better when the cysts pop; that’s why you’re hurtin’ so bad now. Once that’s done you’ll feel fine, but you’ll need to deal with the menstrual cramps. Trust me, those hurt worse. Almost as bad as Childbirth in some cases, but you might be lucky and not have any pain.” Steve relaxed and grinned sardonically at his friend.

                “Knowing my luck, it’ll be the former rather than the latter,” he said. Bucky had to laugh at that and slowly settled back into the comfortably worn role of caretaker to his friend. It felt nice again to help Steve in a way that wasn’t violent, but he knew it wouldn’t last, so he took what he could. “Hey, Stark,” Steve suddenly said, and broke Bucky out of his musing. “what are you doin’ here?” Bucky turned around to see the mad look in Stark’s eyes return only muted in Steve’s presence.

                “I was wondering,” he said carefully. Stark knew he had to tread lightly with this, because Steve genuinely wanted a family after the war, and was a little miffed that they kept his sperm sample on ice. “If your body was simply underdeveloped and slightly malformed, it might explain your previous sterility. It would also explain why you’re only now opening up and beginning to menstruate.” Steve’s look soured, and Stark knew he had to just speak plain and fast or else Steve would get mad. ‘ _Rip it off like a bandage_ ,’ he thought.

                “Get to the point, Stark,” he ordered flatly. Howard gulped, and dove in.

                “I want a sample to study after the war,” he said quickly. “I know I ain’t a medical doctor, but I’m a certified genius, I could figure it out.” Steve’s jaw clenched and jutted as he worked the question around in his mouth.

                “Just one,” he asked. Stark almost sagged with relief, he was so tense, but nodded. “How you gonna do it?” Stark grinned.

                “I’ve been collaborating with that Col of yours, you guys rescued a few months back about a machine that could see the insides of a body without the risk of x-rays. It uses ultrasonic waves like sonar to bounce sound waves off the insides of the body and back to a transceiver that will convert it into a picture we can see,” Stark explained. Steve looked impressed and looked at Bucky, and saw him wearing a look of child-like awe at the prospect of this invention.

                “Sounds like something out of one of my comics,” Bucky said with a child-like grin. Stark preened under the almost praise.

                “It’s a simple idea really, and we have the technology to do it; have had it for years. We just didn’t use it for anything else,” Stark continued. “Fëanor said he had created something like it back home, wherever that is, and it worked! And he didn’t have the kind of technology we have here, so that’s a plus for us. We’ve got a working prototype ready for use. It’ll take decades before we can get a version ready for the public market, so this one might be it for a while.” Stark pouted at that, but shrugged it off a second later. “Anyway, we’ll use that to look at your insides, and then use a large hollow bore needle to extract the ovulated egg. It’s simple really. In thirty years they’ll be doing this to help couples have babies.”

Stark looked confident and self-assured in his invention, and Steve trusted Howard to have the machine working right before everything happened. Steve looked at Peggy, and found, that, though she looked a little sour at the prospect of Howard doing experimenting on Steve for his own gain, she was comforting and encouraging. Steve knew that no one else should make such an important decision besides him, so he thought long and hard about it. As he thought, one thing kept cropping up in his mind: when Stark was done with it, was it possible for him to have a baby with the egg later? He mulled over the thought of being a dad for the first time in a long while and found that he did want to have children.

                “Okay,” Steve said quietly and looked up at Howard, “okay, let’s do it.” Bucky grasped Steve’s arm and he looked at him with concern.

                “Steve,” he asked carefully, “are you sure about this?” Steve nodded with a small smile.

                “Yeah,” he answered, “yeah, Buck, I am.” Bucky looked Steve in the eye, and searched his face for any uncertainty and found none.

                “Alright,” he sighed.

                “Great!” Stark said cheerfully. “I’ll call the doc in and bring the machine over from my lab. It’s kinda big.” He said sheepishly, and waved goodbye. “We’ll have it done before you know it.” ~*~*

~*~*

* * *

 

True to Stark’s word, the procedure only took moments to finish, but Howard and the doctor studied Steve’s unusual anatomy for nearly a half hour before Bucky had to force them to let Steve rest. Later that night found Bucky beside Steve’s bed, his feet up on the cot as he leaned back in his chair and read a popular science rag, as Steve moaned and clutched the hot water bottle to his cramping belly. Bucky grinned into his magazine and didn’t even look up when Steve let out a long moan. Bucky hated his own periods with a vengeance. They were nearly as bad as labor, but usually lasted an hour before the cramps faded enough that he could do something besides writhe in pain on his bunk. The bleeding would last nearly a work week, and left him grumpy and with a strong craving for chocolate and sweets. He was never really heavy though so he counted that blessing every time. It seemed that Steve, though, was a heavy bleeder. He’d already gone through three pads, and it had only been since they found out, a few hours before. Though, that might be because it was his first; Bucky’s first was just as heavy, if not more so.

                “Just kill me know!” he begged, but Bucky smirked and continued reading.

                “Not fun, are they, pal?” he said with a knowing smirk, as he glanced over the top of his magazine at Steve; who moaned again in pain.

                “Shuddup,” Steve groaned back with a snap. Bucky grinned and went back to his reading. He stayed at Steve’s side the whole night they kept him for observation. (Steve had essentially matured underdeveloped organs over the course of a year; that warrants some observation.) Arion left for his apartment after a few hours, and Peggy left for bed not long after; claiming she needed her rest. The Commandoes came and went hours ago, and Steven stayed for a few hours before he begged off sleep and left as well. That left only Bucky to stay at Steve’s side.

                “Col Noldorean invited us to visit him at his estate in Wales: Joyous Guard,” Bucky said calmly as he thumbed through his magazine. “I thought it might be a good break for the guys, and Steven can meet his half-brother, Fëanor’s newborn son. It might be good for him. Arion and I want a big family, when we get back to the states. It might be good practice.” Steve didn’t answer his rambling just groaned and held the hot water bottle to his belly for dear life.

                “Please, just kill me,” he whimpered. Bucky smiled blandly and ignored him. “I won’t ever make fun of girls going through this again, just make it stop!” Bucky stifled a snort before he set aside his reading and adjusted a toggle on Steve’s meds, knowing that the docs weren’t taking the Serum into account, and a few seconds later Steve sighed in relief when the sharp spikes of pain faded to a dull throb; that he could handle. Throbbing pain was nothing to him before, and now it was something he could ignore. “Thank you!”

                “Not a problem, Punk,” Bucky said good naturedly. Steve grinned back and began to doses off.

                “Jerk,” he mumbled back before sleep finally claimed him. ~*~*

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Because of Steve’s medical issues, the Commandoes were given a longer leave to rest, relax and unwind a little bit. Bucky was eternally grateful for this because his nightmares were getting pretty bad in the field, and he felt if he didn’t take a break soon he would snap. Steven was even looking a little rough around the edges, and that was saying a lot about the perpetually cheerful young lieutenant’s state of mind. All of the Commandoes were a bit desperate for a change of scenery by the end of the second day, so they were all grateful when Bucky suggested they take Col Noldorean up on his offer to visit, and practically fled to the Welsh estate to escape the hectic and damaged state of London.

The estate is huge. Larger by far than the Rogers estate in Ireland, and had large and lush woodlands and open pastures dotting the estate. Bucky and Steven were in awe of the majestic beauty of the place the moment they set foot on the grounds. Steve’s mouth was in a perpetual state of jaw-dropped shock, open and unabashed in his gawking at the large open grounds. The path that leads up to the main house is a single cart road, with very little room for anything else. Their transport had a difficult time over the rough terrain road, and went very slowly over the bumps and divots. The road was cut through a thick woods, and wound around the terrain more than through it. The driver apologized for the rough ride, stating that the road had been there for centuries, and wasn’t meant for cars but rather carriages and horses.

It was all worth it in the end, when they came through forest into the courtyard and were met with the most awe inspiring sight they had ever beheld. The house’s style was similar to the Rogers’ Mansion but leaned more toward the English Gothic style, with large wings attached to the main house having huge multi-story windows that were tall and thin. The courtyard was large and open, hedged by blooming rose bushes in a multitude of colors. There was even a large fountain at the center, with multiple ponds like a layer cake containing colorful fish, and swimming birds. It was such a whimsical sight that Steven giggled like a child at the bathing birds. Steve looked around and realized that the forest was strategic in nature, fencing the world out like a great wall of green leaves and bark. Steve could hear the ocean and smell the saltiness of the air, and for a moment he felt at home.

The house itself sat in the large open pasture with beautiful stables and barns on its left. The whinny he heard on the wind, told him that the stables were still in use. The back courtyard was just as huge, and butted up to the cliff-face and beach. The openness of the land behind the trees was like a sanctuary to all that entered, and was only broken by the gated gardens and hedges.

Steve gawked for a moment more before the clearing of a throat caught his attention. Steve turned around with a blush, at being caught snooping at the sights, and saw Lt Col DuLake smiling on the front steps before the open door.

                “Welcome to Joyous Guard,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind coming out here for the night. It has been some time since Fëanor and I have had guests that we are both a little over excited. The Col is in library with the baby, and asked me to bring you to him.” He motioned them all to enter, and they all stepped into the spacious entry hall. It was two or three stories high with a large hanging chandelier. The staircase was large and attached to the wall to the left of the door. Next to it was a large open doorway that looked as if it led into the kitchen and dining room area. The hall under the second story banister- hall led out to a back door and more rooms, and when Steve looked to the left he could see the large French doors leading into the library and study.

                “Does the Col send you to do everything,” Steve asked absentmindedly, and smiled sheepishly when he realized he had been rude.

                “No,” DuLake said with a laugh, “he asked the butler to welcome you and take your bags up to your rooms, but I thought you should be welcomed a bit more personally. Alfred, if you please,” he said to the tall, thin and graying man behind him, who was obviously the head butler. “Thank you, Alfred. Take the Captain’s things up to one of the larger suites with a bathing chamber attached, and the study.” Steve protested the special treatment, out of habit.

                “Oh, no,” he protested, “Col. I couldn’t possibly…”

                “It’s alright, Captain,” DuLake interrupted. “And please, just call me Joshua. It’s the least that we can do. You men will be given just as fine quarters; you are not being given special treatment.” Steve smiled.

                “Alright,” Steve conceded, “but only if you call me Steve.” Joshua smiled big and bright, and chuckled.

                “That I can do, Steve,” he said. The butler Alfred silently took Steve’s bags from where he dropped them on the floor, and a few more butlers or servants came and took the others up to the second floor. Once they were on their way up the stairs, Joshua smiled and motioned towards the Library’s open doors. “This way.”

Steve and the others walked into the cathedral-like library and were met with a heartwarming sight: Fëanor sat peaceful and smiling, on his sofa, as he cradled his little baby in his arms a bottle in hand. Steve had never seen such a contented and serene look on anyone’s face. Not even Bucky looked so at peace when he held his son for the first time. It brought a soothing warmth to Steve that he hadn’t felt since that horrible day at the Camp. Fëanor looked up, when he heard Steve and the Commandoes inch forward, and he smiled blissfully. He motioned Steve and the others forward and pulled the now empty bottle out of the baby’s mouth. The baby whined in minor distress at the loss of his bottle and Fëanor maneuvered him in his arms so that he lay on his strong shoulder. He shushed the child and gently patted him on the back with all the expertise of a long-time parent.

                “Hush, hush,” he said softly, and Steve could have sworn he sounded just like Avery Elfstar. “It’s alright. Atar’s here, Ata’s here.” The baby let out a surprisingly loud burp for a child so small, and the Commandoes all chuckled at the cuteness of it all. The child settled down with a contented sigh and Fëanor pulled him off his shoulder and back into the crook of his arm. The British officer looked up at the Commandoes with a sly but happy smile. “I take it that Joshua has welcomed you already?” he asked haughtily, with an arched brow.

                “Yes, he has,” Steve answered. Fëanor’s eyes snapped to the Captain’s and Steve found himself pinned under the scrutiny of his fiery and penetrating gaze. Fëanor’s eyes were silver blue and burned white hot with the writhing spirit that dwelt within, just under the surface. Steve squirmed under his gaze for a moment before he boldly met his gaze. The Col smiled widely at that, and ushered them forward.

                “Come,” he said with all the command of someone who was used to his orders being followed to the letter immediately. Steve and Bucky tentatively approached first, before Steven followed. Steven took a seat on Fëanor’s right and Steve and Bucky took the seats to his left. Fëanor held up his baby so that they could all see him. “Meet my son: Adrian Noldorean, Adrian Eruantien Fëanarion.”

Steve leaned forward and couldn’t help the besotted smiled that bloomed over his face. Adrian was as beautiful a baby as Steven had been; as any baby Steve had ever seen. His rosy cheeks and tiny bud-like lips, curled into an almost smile made him an adorable sight. Then Steve caught sight of his little ears; his little pointed elf ears. Steve glanced up at Fëanor, and saw the very tip of a refined elf ear poking out from underneath his dark hair.

                “Fëanor,” he said suddenly, as his expression filled with awe and disbelief. “You’re that Fëanor, aren’t you?” The elf smirked and arched a regal brow. Steve huffed out a chuckle at his epiphany. “Curufinwë Fëanaro Finwion, the High King of the Noldor; the firstborn of Finwë, and only child of Míriel Þerindë, they said you were dead!” Steve said with his eyebrows high on his forehead, asking for an answer to the unasked question.

                “To everyone I ever knew, I am dead,” He said, “I still don’t remember everything, but what I do remember is… painful. This is my punishment,” he said sadly. “Avery sent me here to not only save my life, but to teach me a lesson; one I would have never listened to thirty years ago.”

                “And what lesson was that?” Steven asked innocently. Fëanor looked over at the young half-elf with a sad smile.

                “How much the actions of one man can irreparably change the course of the future, for good or ill, and of how damaging acts made without the thought of the consequences to others can be.” Fëanor muddled over his words for a moment before he looked up at Steven again. “I was not in my right mind when I made that retched Oath. I was fueled by my anger and grief, and it made me rash in more ways than I have ever been in my whole existence. I acted without thought of consequence and as a result I caused so much needless bloodshed. I regret my actions now, but wouldn’t if he hadn’t sent me here and opened my eyes.” Fëanor’s smile turned bitter, “I regret most that I spoke harshly of my brother, when he had only ever proven himself loyal to me, and a good brother. I was a poor excuse of a brother, even a half-brother. I never told my brother how sorry I was for what I had done. I regret this the most.”

Joshua cleared his throat in an attempt to break the sorrowful tension now permeating the room. Fëanor looked up at him with surprise, and then gave him a grateful smile.

                “I think that is enough dreary thoughts, my friend,” Joshua said kindly. “I think our guests would like to get to know little Adrian better, don’t you?” confusion and then realization dawned on Fëanor’s fair countenance, as his mouth opened in a round ‘o’ shape, before shifting into a sheepish smile. The Noldo turned to Steven and gently held out his arms with the tiny bundle.

                “Would you like to hold him?” he asked the blond Lt with an encouraging look. Steven looked back and forth between Fëanor, his Ada and the baby in the Col’s arms. Bucky gave him a reassuring smile, and nodded while gesturing with his arms.

                “Go on,” he whispered, urging him on with a bright smile.

                “Okay,” Steven said hesitantly and held out his arms. Fëanor gently passed his baby over to Steven and helped position his arms correctly to hold him.

                “There you go; that’s it. Now mind his head,” he coached gently as he eased his hands away from Adrian. Steven gently tucked his hand under Adrian’s head to support his fragile neck and the baby just slotted into place in the crook of his elbow against his bicep. Steven gazed down in wonder at the fair haired baby, and an astounded smile spread across his face. Fëanor leaned away and looked at the pair with sorrowful eyes. “You have the same eyes,” he said suddenly.

Steven’s head popped up from where it had bent over the baby, and his smile turned puzzled at his statement.

                “What?” he asked and Fëanor looked haunted and sad.

                “You two, you have the same eyes,” he said, “your father’s eyes. They’re the same color: blue like sapphires with a small green ring at the center.” Steven looked confused and worried. He glanced over Fëanor’s shoulder to look at his Ada, and found him frozen stiff with fright. “My brother’s had the same eyes,” the elf king plowed on his face more sure and contented then sad. “They got it from their mother, Indis, but you get it from your father, don’t you?” Steven nodded slowly, and Fëanor smiled weakly. “Your father gets it from his father, Ingwë, Indis’ brother. That’s why you all have the same eyes,” he said brokenly, “you two have the same father.”

Bucky turned as white as a sheet and clutched Steve’s arm as he tried to steady his breathing and heart rate. Fëanor turned around and saw Bucky’s stricken face. He sighed and scooted closer to the young man. He wrapped his arm around Bucky’s heaving shoulders and tucked him into his side.

                “I am not angry at either of you.” he said after a moment, “I don’t blame Arion for what happened, but… neither will I be able to stomach his presence for a while.”

Steven heaved a sigh of relief as his Ada sagged into Fëanor’s side and released Steve’s arm. Steve looked back and forth between the two with confusion and concern. Steven tentatively reached out his mind to Steve and felt the turmoil in his mind. As gently as he could he sent a wave of reassurance and the pleaded command of ‘ _please don’t ask’_ into his mind. Steve’s eyes widened and snapped up to him, his mouth dropping open in a perfect little ‘o’ in shock. Steven blushed as he realized that this was the first time he had reached out his mind to another besides his father and his Ada. Steve’s shocked face turned to awe and pride, and sent back his own projected thought.

                ‘ _Okay, I’ll leave it. For now_ ,’ he projected back, and Steven grinned.

Joshua smiled at the proceedings and heaved an internal sigh of relief at Fëanor’s forgiveness of Arion’s actions that resulted in their son. Fëanor held enough grief within him; he did not need to carry more. Fëanor pulled away and moved over to his son who had woken and began reaching up to grab at Steven’s golden hair. The dark-haired elf chuckled and scooped his son out of Steven’s hold.

                “Now, now, Adrian,” he chided the little one gently; “you mustn’t pull your brother’s hair. It isn’t nice, no matter how pretty it is.” Steven blushed, bright red, and Fëanor chuckled again. He was very at ease with a baby in his arms and Steve noted that it was experience that gave him such ease. With a private chuckle, he remembered that Fëanor’d had seven sons with his wife. He’d had plenty of experience with babies. Fëanor rocked and slowly danced around, bobbing on nimble feet, as he eased Adrian into sleep. After a moment, the baby was fast asleep and the Noldo eased him down into the cradle by the foot of the couch. The Commandoes all gathered near to look at the sleeping baby, and did a collective “aww” at the adorable sight of Adrian’s big yawn and wiggle, as he snuggled up into his blankets.

The sudden crack of lightning broke the moment rather violently, and woke Adrian up screaming. Fëanor looked up and out the library windows out to the cliffs, and the sea. The sky was black with churning clouds and the sea was a mass of violence. Lightning flashed again, and thunder cracked seconds later in reply. Joshua quickly moved forward and picked up the screeching baby from his cradle. He held him to his chest to shush him and quiet his screams. Fëanor watched the storm with over bright eyes and a face of stone.

                “It’s just a squall,” Joshua said. “They happen here all the time. It’ll pass soon enough. This one looks to be more of a big bag of wind rather than rain.” He looked over at Steve, who was watching Fëanor as he gazed out the windows with fervor. Suddenly his eyes widened and he bolted for the door to the back porch. He threw open the doors and ran outside and down the steps to the gardens below, like a mad man and the Commandoes followed him.

                “What’s he doing,” Falsworth shouted over the howl of the wind, and the screaming baby.

                “I don’t know,” Joshua shouted back, and looked over at the other commandoes as they rushed to follow the Col outdoors. “Alfred,” he cried and the butler quickly came to his side and took the squalling child from him. “Take care of him for a moment, and try to get him calmed down!” he shouted over the wind before he took off full tilt through the doors and out into the back yard.

Steve met him at the bottom of the steps, and the two quickly followed the rest of the Commandoes as they ran after Fëanor. Steve and Joshua had no more than stepped foot off the last of the stone steps in the courtyard proper, when the wind suddenly stopped and all went dead silent. Steve and Joshua rushed to catch up with the others after sharing a significant look. What they found when they caught up with him was not what they expected. Fëanor was at the back stables when they caught up, surrounded by tall and long hair men; all of whom were enthusiastically embracing Fëanor as if they had not seen each other in a long time. Fëanor was in tears, as he tenderly touched the faces and ran his hands over each and every one of them.

There were eight of them, each as tall and as fair as the last. They wore strange armor and clothing that Steve had never seen before and they all had swords attached to their belts; and some had bows. With a jolt Steve realized they were all elves, and the reason that he had not recognized their armor as such was because it was so old in style and form. Bucky elbowed him in the side to get his attention, and Steve looked over to see his friend’s wide and awestruck expression.

                “Steve,” he said breathlessly, “those are Fëanor’s sons!” Steve looked back and felt his eyes widen in shock as he began to recognize each one from drawings he had seen in the Rogers manor. The tallest had to be at least seven feet tall, if it was an inch, and he had short fire red hair that blazed bright as copper when the sun caught the high-lights.  He wore his sword on his right side, and his right arm ended in a rounded cuff.

                “No right hand,” Steve whispered reverently, “Maedhros!” Maedhros had always been a big inspiration to Steve when he was young. The elf went through so much and was able to withstand so much pain before he died, and Steve thought that if Maedhros could keep getting back up no matter how much it hurt to do so, no matter how much it hurt to re-learn how to walk and write and fight, maybe he could do the same.

Fëanor reverently placed his hands on Maedhros’ face and smiled brokenly through his tears. The redhead leaned into the touch and closed his eyes in contented peace; tears running silently down his face in relief and joy. Fëanor gently pulled his eldest into his arms and tenderly cupped the back of his head. Maedhros sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Fëanor’s middle resting his head against Fëanor’s chest. His shoulders began to shake and hitch, and before Steve and the others knew it they were watching the former High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth sob into his father’s arms. Another of his sons, dark haired and fair skinned with mournful eyes, slipped into Fëanor’s arm and buried his face in his Atar’s shoulder.

It was as if a flood gate was opened, and soon all Fëanor’s sons were squeezed in some place to hold their long lost Atar. Only one stood alone, disbelief and joy making him look like a young child with wide blue eyes. Fëanor looked up and saw him. He gently extracted himself from his sons hold and went to stand in front of the younger elf.

                “Telpë!” he sobbed and quickly pulled the dark-haired elf into his embrace. The younger elf did nothing but stand stunned in Fëanor’s arms before his own arms slowly crept up his back for a moment, and then they quickly wrapped themselves tightly around the other’s form. Steve heard a soft and broken confession from the Col sobbed into the long dark hair of the other elf. “I thought I’d never see you again, my boy. Let me look at you,” he said and pulled away to arms’ length to inspect the elf. “Oh, you’ve grown so handsome!” the younger one blushed and wiped some of the tears off his face with a laugh. “Telperinquar,” he said proudly, “or should I call you Celebrimbor?”

Steve felt his jaw drop and looked over at Bucky to confirm what he heard. Bucky looked at him in equal shock before the two of them looked back at the pair of dark-haired Noldor. Steve is so stunned at the sight of the smith that forged the Mithril shirt he was wearing under his clothes, and the pendent and chain about his neck that he almost missed the sight of a giant hound bounding out of the forest behind the stables. The great hound was massive, nearly as big as the great war-steeds standing about, which were obviously the Fëanarion’s, with golden fur and a long shining coat. The hound leapt and bounded about with joy at seeing one of his old masters. Fëanor laughed and pulled away from his grandson to wrap his arms around the mighty dog’s neck and hug him fiercely.

                “Huan, you old rascal,” he said as he scratched and rubbed the dog’s neck and behind his ears. The dog whined and barked happily before proceeding to bowl Fëanor over and sower him with wet slobbery kisses. “Oh, no, you slobbery dog, stop it!” Fëanor’s commands fell on the dog’s blatantly deaf ears, and the laughter of his sons and grandson. “Get off me!” with a shove he pushed the giant hound off his body and Fëanor was able to sit up and look at his guests.

Steve and the others quickly moved forward to help him to his feet. Joshua got their first and gave his CO a hand up. A quick nod of thanks, and he looked about him to his sons and to the men he owed his life to. Steve and Bucky came forward first and were accosted by the giant hound. Huan growled at them but Steve just smiled, not afraid of the big dog in the least.

                “Hi there, big fella,” he said and Huan stopped growling to step forward and sniff at the Captain. Steve giggled when Huan’s nose and whiskers tickled his tender spots at his neck. Bucky grinned and started scratching the big dog behind his pointed ears. The hound whined and leaned into the scratch, thumping his long tail and twitching his leg in pleased satisfaction.

                “That,” Dugan said with wide eyes as he came closer, “is a _big_ dog! What’s his name?” the blond elf in the group smiled happily and stepped forward to haul the hound off Steve.

                “Rascal,” he said fondly, “his name is Huan. He is the Hound of the Valinor, Adan, and he has been with me for many years. He is my faithful hunting companion.” Two pairs of identical red-heads popped up and squawked indignantly.

                “Hey,” one said, “what about…”

                “Us,” the other finished. Fëanor groaned and laughed.

                “Oh, I forgot how you boys used to always finish each other’s sentences,” he laughed.

                “You are all strangely dressed for mortals,” the blond one said. “Who are you?”

                “Tyelkormo,” Maedhros chided and glared at the blond when he looked back in confusion. “Manners.”

                “Oops, sorry,” he chuckled and held his hand out to Steve politely. “I am Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Most know me by my Sindarin name, Celegorm.” Steve grasped his hand in a daze and quickly brought out his most charming USO smile. Bucky leaned into his side and whispered quietly in Steve’s ear so that only he could hear him.

                “Before or after the fifth battle,” he asked. Steve grasped the proffered hand and shook it politely.

                “Before,” he mumbled back. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Captain Steve Rogers, and these are my men; the Howling Commandoes,” the Fëanarion’s all chuckled at that and Steve grinned proudly. “This is Sergeant James Barnes, our advanced scout.” Bucky put on his charming smile and shook Celegorm’s hand.

                “Nice to meet ya,” he drawled. “Call me Bucky.”

                “Bucky,” Celegorm said with a grin.

                “This is my Lieutenant, Lt Steven Grant Buchanan,” Steve continued.

                “Hi, nice to meet you,” Steven said with a smile. Celegorm grasped his hand and shook it in greeting.

                “Major James Montgomery Falsworth,” Steve pointed out the man and he stepped forward.

                “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said as he shook Celegorm’s hand.

                “Sergeant Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan,” Steve said and the big man came forward and tipped his bowler hat. Celegorm grinned at the strangeness of the man and inclined his head politely. “Private Jim Morita, our communication’s officer.” Morita stepped forward and shook Celegorm’s hand.

                “Hi,” he said, and Celegorm grinned at the strangeness of him.

                “Private Gabriel Jones, our language expert,” Steve said and Gabe smiled kindly. Celegorm was shocked by his dark skin but smiled after a moment of gentle mind probing from Caranthir said he was friendly.

                “A pleasure,” he said.

                “Likewise,” Gabe responded, “and call me Gabe.”

                “And this is Jacques Dernier, our explosives expert,” Steve said. Jacques smiled and shook Celegorm’s hand. “His Common Tongue is not so good.” Jacques demonstrated his pleasure at meeting the Fëanarion’s by enthusiastically kissing Celegorm’s cheeks. “He’s French,” Steve said by way of an explanation. “And if you need to talk to him just ask Gabe to translate for you; or better yet, ask your father; he was in the French campaigns during the last war.” The brothers all looked back at their Atar with raised eyebrows, and Fëanor smiled and shrugged sheepishly.

                “Well it is s pleasure to meet you all,” Maedhros said and finally came to stand before the assembled Commandoes. Steve looked up at the man’s smiling face and was struck my how tall the elf was. Steven smiled kindly and turned his attention to the Hound that was now attempting to stick his cold wet nose in his ear. He ducked his head and tried to shield his ear from the nose by hunching up one shoulder. Huan finally gave up and set his head on Steven’s shoulder instead, looking at him with big soulful eyes. Maedhros smiled at the sight and continued with his introductions. “You have already met my brother, Celegorm, so I will introduce the rest of us. I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo, known as Maedhros the Tall to the Sindar.” He bowed regally and Steve felt inclined to do the same. Maedhros smiled at that before he continued. “This is my younger brother Canafinwë Makalaurë, Maglor the Mighty Singer,” Maglor smiled from his place by his Atar.

                “It is an honor,” he said kindly and Steve was struck by the musical quality to his voice.

                “Celegorm is our younger brother, and his is Morifinwë Carnistir, Caranthir the Dark; and you can see why,” Caranthir glowered at his eldest brother and his cheeks flushed with fury.

                “That was a dirty trick, brother,” he groused.  Maedhros laughed.

                “Over by Atar is Curufinwë Atarinkë, Curufin the Crafty; and his son Telperinquar, Celebrimbor,” Maedhros pointed out the two dark haired elves standing on either side of Fëanor. “And those two little demons,” Maedhros said playfully fierce, as he pointed out the two identical red-heads, “are the twins, Pityafinwë Ambarussa and Telufinwë Ambarto, Amras and Amrod; don’t worry, even we have trouble telling them apart!” Steve and the Commandoes all burst out in laughter, before the whiny of a horse breaks clear in the air.

Steve went on alert and all heads turned towards the forest of trees where the Fëanarion’s horses were standing. For a moment, there was silence, and then another horse whinnied in reply to the first. The tension bled from the Fëanarion’s shoulders, and Steve could see a smile pull across Maedhros’ lips.

                “Who else was with you,” Steven asked, and the eldest Fëanarion looked back at him with a bold smile that drove away the shadow from his eyes and the unnatural aging from his face.

                “The King,” he said, “and his son; my Kano.” Maedhros’ eyes became misty and proud as he turned back to the wood; where they had obviously emerged from some portal between Arda and Earth.

Steve’s eyes widened at that statement, and watched as a massive white War-Steed emerged from nowhere. It looked as if the air shimmered and warped before a ghost image appeared and then stepped through the veil. The Stallion was as white as snow and built tall and strong his legs sturdy and long. His mane was like snow and was unbound from any braiding. Upon his breast was silver armor and cloth bearing the device of the House of Fingolfin. Steve looked up at his rider and was struck dumb. There before him on the mighty war-steed, was none other than Nolofinwë Fingolfin himself; thus making the steed none other than Rochallor, his famous War horse.

Moments later a second horse burst through the portal, and on it was an elf that looked so closely like Avery’s grandson that they could have been brothers. Steve felt his jaw drop when he realized that Maedhros had already given him the dark haired elf’s name: Findekáno Nolofinwion, Fingon the Valiant. Steve found his artist gaze running over the dark-haired elf, and found that he looked exactly as he was described in legend: his hair was an ebony black, was wavy, and was bound in intricate braids with gold cords. His eyes were the same color of blue that Fëanor described: deep Sapphire fading to a lighter blue with a small ring of green surrounding the pupil. He was handsome and the moment his saw Maedhros his face lit up with a brilliant smile; making him look so very young and happy.

Nolofinwë did not look so happy. He held his prancing horse in check and looked around at all the strange men before him. His eyes lit upon Joshua for a moment and his eye-brow rose in curiosity for a moment, before drifting onward. When they set upon Fëanor, they stopped. The blue eyes widened in shock and the rains of his horse slipped limply from his numb fingers. As quick as a cat he dismounted, but with all the grace Steve and the Commandoes had come to know from the Eldar. His eyes never left Fëanor’s face as he walked to stand right before him.

                “Fëanaro?” he asked slowly and with disbelief. His hand raised of its own volition to tangle in Fëanor’s shortened hair. Fëanor smiled wryly and nodded. Shock and disbelief turned to awe in an instant, as Nolofinwë came closer. “We thought you _dead_!” he said slowly and pulled Fëanor into his arms. Fëanor wrapped his arms tightly around his half-brother and tucked his nose into Nolofinwë’s hair, drinking in the scent of his brother after so many years.

                “Uncle,” Findekáno said in shock, and an equally joyous smile brightened his face to almost luminous. Fëanor shuddered into his brother’s shoulder.

                “On the Western Front of Europe, the living are dead,” he said morosely into his shoulder. He pulled away and smiled; his eyes suspiciously bright. “I thought I’d never see you again, Nolvo.” Nolofinwë smiled watery and clasped Fëanor’s arms tightly in his own grasp. Fëanor chuckled weakly and turned his watery gaze to Findekáno. The dark haired champion smiled brightly, with unabashed tears running down his face. “Kano,” he said and his face turned melancholy. “I am so sorry. I had no right…”

                “It’s alright, Uncle,” Findekáno interrupted. “It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize to me. I understand; you weren’t yourself.” Fëanor’s face turned slightly bitter.

                “I was myself, Kano,” he said. “Probably more myself than I ever was in my life, and I hurt all of you so much. You haven’t changed, though. Your still as forgiving and good hearted as ever.” Fëanor’s smile turned more wistful as he looked between his eldest and Findekáno. “That goodness has kept many of my get in check; especially my eldest.” Fëanor cocked a knowing eyebrow. Findekáno blushed brightly and ducked his head away with a bashful smile.

Nolofinwë turned away from his brother and to the audience they had surrounding them. A questioning eyebrow lift to his brother was all it took for Fëanor to roll his eyes in exasperation and smile before he introduced the Howling Commandoes and his closest companion.

                “Joshua has been with me since I came to this world,” he said after the fact. “I owe him my life on many occasions, and he has ever proven to be a good friend.” Nolofinwë smiled and clasped Joshua’s hand in a friendly shake.

                “It is good to see that my brother has someone with good intentions watching his back,” Nolofinwë said.

                “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Joshua said.

                “Joshua, this is my brother and his son: Findekáno,” Fëanor said and gestured to the other elf. Joshua smiled. “Captain, Commandoes; this is my brother and his son, my nephew.”  Steve smiled a dopy grin, and acted like a little kid meeting his hero for the first time.

They all would have spent more time outside getting to know one another, but there was a sudden flash of lightning and crack of the reporting thunder that forced them all to go inside the manor. Fëanor showed them into the library, and happily preened as they all gazed in wonder at the fine architecture and craftsmanship taken to create his new home.

                “Alfred,” Joshua said, and the butler smiled and came to stand silently at the door to the library.

                “Yes, sir?” he said calmly and with a pleasant smile.

                “if you would have the staff prepare some extra rooms for our unexpected guests, and set the table for the nine extra places, that would be lovely,” he asked pleasantly. Fëanor looked up in surprise, and suddenly had a thought.

                “And be sure to have the cook make extra dessert and sweetbreads, Alfred,” Fëanor added. “My sons just love sweet bread.” Alfred smiled indulgently before bowing slightly.

                “Right away, sir,” he said and quietly left the large group to get to know one another.

Fëanor smiled happily at his family and his brother, and Nolofinwë smiled back; so it took him by complete surprise when Nolofinwë decked him across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. Fëanor shook his head to chase away the stars and spinning doubles in his vision. Once that was done he clutched his smarted chin and jaw, and glared up at his younger brother; whose face was the epitome of righteous fury.

                “Hey!” Fëanor snapped, “What was that for?”

                “That was for making us all think you were dead, and scaring me out of a few thousand years of my life, which I can’t spare!” Nolofinwë angrily spat. “Do you have _any_ idea what you put us all through, brother? Do you?!” Fëanor had the good sense to look ashamed at realizing how much it must have hurt his family to think him dead for so many years.

                “Words could never convey the remorse I feel for putting you all through that; especially you, Nolvo,” he said sadly as he slowly got to his feet. “Sorry is too little a word for it, but it is all I have. I am truly sorry, brother, for everything; for how I wronged you after the docks, and for betraying you in Araman and leaving you and your followers there to die on the Ice. And I am sorry for letting you all think I was dead, when I am most assuredly alive.” Fëanor looked down at his hands completely shamefaced, as the clenched before him. “You only ever showed me loyalty and love, and I returned it with dishonor and hate. You are in the right to be angry at me, brother, and I can only beg of your forgiveness.” Fëanor fell to his knees and Steve and the Commandoes watched as he held his hands up, clasped over his bowed head, pleading for mercy.

Nolofinwë’s hard expression melted into a soft smile of pleased pride. He grasped Fëanor’s hands in his own and pulled him to his feet. A finger under the dark haired elf’s chin brought his gaze back up to Nolofinwë’s eyes. After a moment of looking at each other, Nolofinwë suddenly wrapped his arms around his eldest brother, and pulled him into a warm and forgiving hug. Fëanor’s stunned face brought chuckles out of Steve and the Commandoes as well as big smiles out of Findekáno and a few of the Fëanarion’s.

                “You only needed to ask, and I would forgive you, brother,” Nolofinwë said into Fëanor’s shoulder. He pulled away and looked Fëanor in the eye and said, “As I told you before, ‘half-brother in blood, full brother in heart. Where thou shalt lead, I will follow.’ No, bother, I am sorry for I failed you terribly. I should have seen you were not in your right mind for some time.” Gratefulness shone from Fëanor’s eyes and he clasped his hands tighter on his brother’s shoulders.

Suddenly the warm moment was broken by little Adrian waking from all the commotion and letting out a cry. Fëanor broke away from his brother and turned back to his crying baby in shock; having forgotten he was in the room. Nolofinwë set his hand on Fëanor’s shoulder and the elder turned to look at him with a warm smile. Pulling away when the child’s cries started to become frantic, Fëanor crossed he space between him and the cradle in long strides and bent down to scoop the sobbing baby out of the cradle.

                “Oh, it’s alright, Tithen pen,” he said. (Little one) “Ohh, hush, my child; Atar’s here. Atar’s here.” Fëanor gently brought the screaming child to rest on his shoulder, as he rocked and swayed with his cheek resting tenderly on Adrian’s little head. Adrian whimpered and whined but soon calmed under Fëanor’s expert attention.

Steve smiled softly at the sight; his heart melting with the warmth. A small stab of want pierced his heart, and he found himself yearning for that kind of contented peace that could only be found in caring for a child all your own. For the first time Steve found himself wanting that dream, that simple American dream: a beautiful wife, a big comfortable house with a yard and white fence, a pet (maybe a dog), and children. Steve knew he was no good with babies of other people, but he was good with Bucky’s sisters when they were young so he knew he could be good with his own. With this yearning dream came the stark reality that the Army, the Government, even the US public would never let him just quit. He didn’t even know if he wanted to quit. He loved being in the Army. It brought a stability to his life that had always been sorely lacking. It gave him a purpose, and a sense that he was part of something bigger and better than simply himself. But that kind of stability could easily become shackles, and the purpose a cage. It could trap him forever, and he would never get out. Wanting a family, having a family, was a different kind of stability. It was a support and buttress not chains. It was a comfort and security, not a cage. It was what Steve needed, but wasn’t sure he’d ever get.

Steve jolted out of his musing when he saw Maedhros skittishly approach his father, apprehension writ on every line of his body. Fëanor looked up at him and smiled the softest and most loving smile Steve had ever seen from someone else, save his own mother, directed at Maedhros. It was a look of pure love and contented peace. The look obviously startled Maedhros, because he stopped and looked at his father with wide awe filled eyes. Fëanor’s smile turned amused and happy before he pulled Adrian off his shoulder and back into the crook of his elbow. He stepped closer to his eldest son and held out the child in silent question.

Maedhros obviously got the hint because he pulled back a bit in shock, his eyes flitting back and forth between his father’s face and the baby in his arms. After a moment of silent deliberation, Maedhros gave into his obvious desire to hold the child. Fëanor gently passed the child from his arms to his eldest son’s. After an awkward moment of positioning, Maedhros was holding the child securely in his embrace, and smiling down at the now awake child. Adrian giggled and reached up to the coppery locks dangling just out of his reach. Maedhros grinned wide at the adorable sight and looked up at Fëanor.

                “Nelyo,” he said tentatively, “I want you to meet Adrian; your baby brother.” Seven sets of shocked and surprised eyes all turned at once to look at Fëanor and Maedhros. The red-head looked up at his father with shock warring with his anger. Fëanor saw this and his gaze turned sad. “I did love your mother, so very dearly,” he said. His eyes fell to the floor and his head hung dejected as he suppressed his sorrow. “But I hurt her more than I ever intended. I scorched her spirit, and now… you mother dissolved our marriage bond.”

Shock and sorrow filled the eyes of Fëanor’s seven sons and one grandson. Nolofinwë bowed his head in silent grief at remembering the hole where his bond once thrummed with warmth and love, and Findekáno quietly stepped forward to set a comforting hand on his uncle’s shoulder. Fëanor looked up at his nephew with a watery smile of gratefulness and appreciation, and if there were tear tracts on the elder’s face Findekáno didn’t mention it.

                “Who is his father,” Maedhros asked somberly as he looked down at the baby’s smiling face. Fëanor looked physically pained at the direct question. After a moment he gathered his courage to speak.

                “Arion,” he croaked, and cleared his throat. “Arion Ingwion.” Fëanor saw the looks of rage and indignation on behalf of their father, and Steven felt suddenly uncomfortable and unwelcome in the presence of the legendarily hot tempers of Fëanor’s sons. “It was…” Fëanor started to explain but thought better of it when he saw how frightened Steven had suddenly become. “It is best if you don’t know how or why; I don’t want you murdering an elf that was just as much a victim in this as I. I don’t care; anyway, I got the best thing out of it that I won’t ever take for granted: my little Adrian.”

Maedhros turned his gaze down to the baby in his arms. Adrian was still trying to grab at his red hair, and made happy little baby sounds as he tried. Slowly Maedhros felt his temper cool under the joy of holding a baby brother in his arms again. Letting the rest of his anger go was nothing after he offered his long finger to the child to grab, and Adrian grasped it in surprisingly strong hands; giggling and smiling the whole time.  Maedhros chuckled, when Adrian pulled his finger into his mouth to suck on.

                “He’s beautiful, Atar,” he said after a moment, and the collectively held breath of all the Commandoes, Steve, Joshua, and Nolofinwë and his son was released.  The atmosphere in the room became lighter and the joy of the moment shined through.

                “Yes, he is,” Fëanor said with a bright and proud smile. Maedhros stepped over to the couch and sat down, still holding the baby tight to his chest. Adrian spat out his finger, when Maedhros bent down slightly as he sat down, and grabbed the stray lock of hair dangling in his reach.

                “AH!” Maedhros gasped when the baby gave a hearty tug. “He certainly has your grip, Atar; and your obsession with shiny things.” Fëanor barked out a deep bellied laugh and plunked down beside him.

                “No, my son,” he chuckled, “that’s just how babies are. He pulled my hair, when he was born. Your hair is a new thing; he’ll lose interest in a bit.” Nolofinwë sat down on the couch and Findekáno took the seat directly to Maedhros’ left and peered over this arm to look at the baby.

Maglor moved to stand behind his father and brother, and was followed by Curufin and his son Celebrimbor. Soon the other Fëanarions were gathered around the brother and new baby. That is all but Celegorm. Steve saw this and moved to stand beside him, as the other blond leaned on the edge of a desk. Steve looked him over with open and honest eyes before he spoke.

                “Not interested in the new baby,” he asked, and Celegorm glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The blond elf arched an eyebrow while raking his gaze over Steve’s form from head to toe.

                “I am,” he replied, “I just don’t want to get squished by all the gawkers before I get a good look at him.” Steve turned to face the blond elf fully and smiled softly.

                “He’s got blond hair,” Steve said after a moment of silence, and it was sudden enough that Celegorm actually turned to look at him. Steve smiled, and glanced over at the group of people now passing around the baby for a chance to hold him. “And blue eyes; a lot like his father’s, but he looks more like your Atar than him.” Celegorm looked thoughtful and Steve bit his lip as he thought of something else to say. “What was it like; growing up with so many brothers and cousins around, I mean.” Celegorm’s piercing gaze stayed on him for a moment before turning away to look back at the laughing and smiling throng of people.

                “Loud,” he said dryly and Steve stifled a snort. Celegorm suppressed a smile as he looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “It was also nice to have someone older than you to turn to when you needed help, and to give advice to younger ones when they needed it. In all honesty it was just simply loud at times. Our whole family argued so much over such little things sometimes, not just Father’s and Uncle Nolofinwë’s get, but just us. We would debate over the silliest things, and father encouraged it. I don’t think he’ll be doing that with Adrian.” Celegorm looked at Steve fully before he asked, “Why do you ask? Don’t you have family, brothers or sisters; cousins that pester you about the most inane things?” Steve shook his head.

                “No,” he said, “I was an only child. I was supposed to have a sister, but she died before I was born, when she was born. I don’t have any cousins, and my father got hurt real bad during the last War; so he and mom couldn’t have anyone else but me.” Steve looked at Bucky and Steven, both smiling and grinning down at the baby in Jacques arms. “Bucky’s all I’ve got. I’m all that’s left of my family.” Celegorm looked suddenly very sad.

                “You mean you have no on? No one at all,” he asked in disbelief.

                “My mom died when I was eighteen and my dad when I was just a kid,” he answered with hollow grief. “She was struggling before the end, and I was just glad she wasn’t suffering anymore when she finally passed. My dad was the same; got hit with Mustard Gas during the War and it scarred up his lungs real bad. It eventually killed him. I barely remember him.” Steve look hollowed out and grey to Celegorm’s eyes, and wondered if this was what a mortal looked like when they were slowly fading from grief.

                “Do you have anyone else besides your friends you could go to after the War is over,” he suddenly asked. Steve looked startled but brightened and blushed.

                “Yeah,” he said ducking his head bashfully.

                “Well, who is it,” Celegorm asked with a grin. He knew that look; it was the same look Curufin gave their father when he met his wife to be.

                “Her name’s Peggy,” Steve said with a blush as he took out his compass and showed him her picture. “She’s a real firecracker. She can deck a man as good as any guy could, and shoot just as good as Bucky with her pistol.” Steve got a dreamy look on his face and sighed. Celegorm sniggered into his hand but whistled when he saw Peggy’s picture.

                “She’s beautiful,” he said. “Are you going to marry her after the war?” Steve suddenly got a little sharp around the edges and his jaw clenched. “What is it?”

                “I don’t think the Army’s just gonna let me go when this is all over, but I don’t know what to do,” Steve bemoaned. “I need an out just in case I’m right, but I don’t know how. This is Peggy’s thing, not mine; I don’t know how to be secretive.”

                “I think you do,” Celegorm said, “after all, you rescued you friend and your comrades without anyone besides those you trusted knowing.” Steve begrudgingly acknowledged that with a half-smile and shrug to one shoulder. “And you are very good at making plans, just look at all you have done. Atar didn’t say much about it, but from what he said and his tone, he is more than a little impressed by your skill; and that is no mean feat to garner his attention.” Steve smiled a little more, confidence bolstered by Celegorm’s honesty. “I have no doubt you could come up with a plan. Perhaps what you need is a compatriot to help you plot your way out of the army at the end of the War.” Steve smirked and glanced up at Celegorm.

                “Why,” he asked slyly, “you volunteering?” Celegorm’s lips pulled into a Cheshire grin that was positively wicked.

                “Let’s just say, Captain,” he said, “that I am more than capable to creating elaborate and long term plots against authority.” Steve smirked, and Celegorm grinned deviously before they pulled closer to one another to come up with an idea and plan. ~*~*~

~~*~*~*

* * *

 

Laughter is the first thing that they here when Steve and Celegorm come out of their plotting. Steve looked up and saw Bucky holding Adrian on his knees and blowing raspberries on the baby’s belly. It was such a joyful sound that it brought Steve back to all those months before, when Steven was just a tiny baby curled in the crook of Bucky’s arm. Steve walked over to stand behind Bucky and made silly faces at the baby. The little boy shrieked with laughter, causing all the ones with over sensitive ears to wince and cringe, as he reached up to Steve. Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled at his friend, before picking the baby up and turning to deposit the child in Steve’s arms. Steve went stiff as a board and the child sensed his discomfort, beginning to whimper and whine; signs of an imminent melt down. Steve forced himself to relax and shifted his hold to a more natural one, and the baby just settled down. Steve and Bucky both blew out a breath of relief and smiled.

                “You know what would make this day just perfect,” Dugan said. Steve and Bucky looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “A group picture.” Morita smiled and snapped his fingers.

                “Yeah,” he said, “and Cap could take it with that new-fangled Camera Stark made for instant photographs.” Steve sighed and turned his gaze heavenward. Ever since the Commandoes found out that he had been going to school for art before the War, they hadn’t let him forget it.

                “And we could have a picture of just the Col and his relatives for them to take home,” Jones added helpfully. Steve looked over at Bucky for help and found a devious grin in place. Steve glared at his friend and dared him to input his idea.

                “And maybe you could do one of Nolofinwë and Fëanor together, Steve. You could make it all classic,” Bucky said; the traitor. Nolofinwë and the Fëanarions all looked at Steve and the blond super soldier sighed; knowing he was defeated. He gently handed the baby back to his father and strode over to grab the one bag he kept with him at all times: his art bag, with the new Camera Stark had given him to test before sending it out into the field. Steve pulled the camera out and grabbed the telescopic tripod that came with it too.

                “Okay then,” he said, “since I’ve been out voted, it seems like it’s picture time.” With some gently prodding and cajoling, Steve got the Commandoes all situated in good poses behind the couch and on the couch and in front of it were Fëanor and his sons. Maedhros was sitting next to his father with Findekáno at his other side, and Nolofinwë and Joshua sat side by side next to Fëanor on his left. The rest of Fëanor’s sons were seated on the floor in artfully positioned poses that were tasteful and still comfortable.

                “You gonna take the picture or not, Steve,” Bucky groused as he stood behind the couch. “We’re not getting any younger, Steve.” Steve glared at him from behind the lens as he focused the camera so that they would all be in perfect clarity. After he declared it ready, he handed the camera trigger over to Alfred, who would be taking the picture. Steve rushed into his position in the very center of the back group, directly behind the couch, and straightened his jacket for his pose. “You sure the thing has those film cards in it?” Bucky asked, “Wouldn’t want to take the picture only to realize there is no film.” Steve glared at this friend.

                “Yes, Bucky, there is film,” he said shortly, and nodded at their impromptu cameraman to ready the camera.

                “Alright, sirs,” he said calmly, “please look at me and smile.” The whole group smiled, and a second later the flash went off. A whirring nose came from the camera for a moment before it seemed to spit out a large piece of white paper. Alfred took it out and held it up for inspection. A bright smile told them of the picture’s success. “Once more,” he said setting the camera up for another go. A bright flash later and another identical picture was in the hands of the Butler.

Steve cajoled everyone in the back out of frame, before prodding the Fëanarions into different positions. With the younger ones on the floor and the elder ones at the back, save for Maedhros, Steve asked them to look at their father and brothers. They did and a flash pop later, there was a new photo for the brothers to have, and a second later a copy for Fëanor to hold on to.

                “Okay,” Steve said, “brothers, off the couch; just Fëanor and Nolofinwë this time.” Maedhros took the baby from his father and laid the sleeping baby back in his cradle. “Okay, guys, I want big smiles for this one.” Steve focused the camera closer so that the two brothers would take up the majority of the frame. Fëanor smiled big and wide while Nolofinwë smiled softly but no less bright. A pair of flashes later there were two pictures for the pair. Suddenly Fëanor and Nolofinwë started snickering. Steve looked up from examining the pictures to see what was going on; when he saw Fëanor and Nolofinwë break out into wide mouth laughing grins. Steve smiled himself and re-focused the camera; taking two photos in as quick succession as he could.

The photos that came out were not formal or artful in any traditional sense, but there was an artistic quality to them that had Steve liking them. Fëanor’s head was pulled back in laughter and his mouth wide open, his nose scrunched up as he grinned. Nolofinwë had his head bent down with his arm wrapped around Fëanor’s shoulder, his smile as wide and bright at his brother’s. It was a moment in time Steve had captured; a snap-shot of something precious not ever seen before. Fëanor had tears pooling in his eyes when he got his laughter under control.

                “You know, Brother,” he said with laughter still in his voice, “I do believe this is the first time we’ve been civil during a family portrait session!” Fëanor cracked up again and turned to snigger into Nolofinwë’s shoulder.

                “Not for a lack of trying on my part,” Nolofinwë laughed back. He took a calming breath. “You really did know how to be annoying when you wanted to be. It drove father mad that we couldn’t get along.” Melancholy stole over his features for a moment before wistfulness took its place. “If only he could see us now.” Fëanor turned his head and smiled with tears in his eyes.

                “Yes,” he said, “if only.” Steve took one last pair of pictures and felt them the best of the lot. Fëanor and Nolofinwë were smiling at each other bright at wide with joy and love. They were leaning on each other but there was no tiredness on their faces. It was simply comfort and enjoyment of another’s presence. It was a picture of true reconciliation; a divided family made whole again. ~*~*

~*~**~

* * *

 

Later that night found Bucky at his secretary desk, as he put pen to paper and wrote for the first time since Steven’s birth to his mother and father. These were his words:

_My dearest mother,_

_You son now writes to you not as a boy but as a man. Mama, I love you and Dad with all my heart, and I hope this letter finds you all well. How are my sisters? Is Becca still studying to become a nurse? I hope so. We all could use a kind and good lady like her out here, but I hope she doesn’t come here. I want her to stay as pure and good as the day I left._

_Is that boy still pestering Victoria? You tell her if he comes after her again, I’ll come back and kick him to the curb myself._

_Tell little Anna I said hi, and that Steven wishes he could see his youngest aunt._

_I miss you all so much it hurts sometimes. It can be hell over here sometimes, but as long as I have Steve to watch over me, and I him, I’ll be alright._

_Steven is getting to be as bold as his Uncle. I guess he has some bad influences! In all honesty, he is so gifted and special that it scares me sometimes. I think every parent wishes for a normal child, but he is so very far from normal. I don’t know if it was because of me or his father._

_Speaking of his father, I met Arion again a few months ago. Arion is just as I remembered. I know you both wanted me to find a nice girl to marry when I got home, but I love Arion more than any girl I’ve ever met. They gave Arion a new cover. “She” goes by Míriel now, and I find it a beautiful and fitting name for her. You should have seen the dress she wore on our last date. Wow! It could have put any Hollywood starlet to shame._

_Mom, I have something really important I want to ask you, and I wish I could do this in person, but since I’m here and you’re back home, I guess this will have to do. I want to give Míriel grandma’s engagement ring, your ring. I wanna ask her to marry me. Could you send the ring over posthaste through Stark Industries? Howard said he would have anything our families wanted shipped to us flown over on one of his planes. I know it is a lot to ask, but I really love Mírë and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to have children with her after the war, have a family. Please send it back in the enclosed box, and I will write as soon as I can with her answer._

_I love you all, and wish you all good health. Steven sends his love as well, and Steve too. See you soon, I hope._

_Your loving son,_

_SGT James ‘Bucky’ Barnes: Howling Commando, and Rogers’ Raider_

_PS: keep Becca, Victoria, and Anna out of my stuff._

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Bucky smiled and blew carefully on the ink to keep it from bleeding before he carefully folded it and placed it in the package with the small velvet box. It was a bit much for his family to understand that he loved Arion as much as he did, but it wasn’t as if he was really a man. He knew that he would have to hide that part of himself from any girl if he ever married. With Arion, he didn’t have to hide it. In fact it gave him a beautiful son that he treasured beyond belief. The ring was only a formality anyway. He and Arion were already married by the customs of the Eldar, but Bucky had always pictured his wedding day at his family Church or a big cathedral where they could have their whole family present. He wanted the big event, and the first dance as a married couple. Was it so much to ask for that small thing?

Bucky knew that if he was going to ask Arion to marry him properly, he was going to do it right. He was going to follow the customs and traditions of the Eldar and get them a pair of silver betrothal rings, and then the gold bands of marriage. And Bucky knew the perfect person to ask to make them: Fëanor. Fëanor may not have liked Arion, but he would never come between another elf and his love. So with that in mind Bucky went down the stairs to Fëanor’s study towards the back of the house. Bucky walked in and smiled at the elf as the Noldo jotted down notes on some scientific discovery or another. The study was more of a lab than a true study, with beakers and vials of odd liquids lining some of the shelves. There was also a small forge at the back of the room on the outer wall. Bucky smirked inwardly. Oddly enough it reminded him of Lord Avery’s private forge, and laboratory. One of the benches had papers covering it, and the tables nearest the forge had metals and shaping tools for making fine cut gem stones.

Bucky cleared his throat and the Noldo looked up from his task. Bucky smothered a laugh at the humorous sight of the infamous Noldo with his jeweler’s glasses on. The magnifying glasses made his eyes look huge and silly, before the elf tipped them up out of his eyes and onto his forehead. The former king grinned at Bucky unexpected presence.

                “Bucky!” he said jovially. He sat down his tools and stood up to greet the Commando, but Bucky shook his head.

                “Don’t get up for me,” Bucky said, and Fëanor sat back down.

                “Well, then,” he said with a smile, “what can I do for you?” Bucky licked his lip in nervousness and tried to swallow the sour taste of fear in his mouth.

                “I need… could you…” he stopped and started as he tried to find his words, and gather his thoughts. “Could you make me a set of silver betrothal rings?” Fëanor’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in shock, and his eyes widened for a moment before settling on pleased surprise.

                “I’d be honored to,” he answered. “And to whom would be the lucky betrothed to be, if I might be so bold to ask.” Bucky smiled and ducked his head bashfully.

                “Arion,” he said hesitantly. Fëanor’s face went carefully blank for a moment before genuine delight spread across his face. “Will you do it?”

                “Bucky,” he said, “I would be delighted to make your betrothal bands and your wedding rings too, if you want.” Bucky sagged as his body drained out its tension in relief.

                “Thank you,” Bucky said gratefully and took the elder’s hands in his own. Fëanor looked down at their clasped hands and smiled.

                “It is no trouble,” he said and pulled away to gather up some drafting paper and some pencils and pens. “Anything special on the betrothal or Wedding bands,” he asked as he carefully measured Bucky’s left ring finger for the size. Bucky blushed slightly and stuffed his hand in his pocket.

                “Yeah,” he said softly. Fëanor looked up at him expectantly and Bucky licked his lips nervously. “Could you engrave something in elvish on the bands?” he asked, and Fëanor smiled a cocky grin.

                “You do realize I am the greatest smith of all the Eldar, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically and Bucky smiled weakly at him at his slip. Fëanor took pity on him and softened his smile. “What do you want written on them?”

                “In Light or Darkness, my love eternal,” he said with pleading eyes.

                “Okay,” Fëanor said softly, “I can do that. Sindarin or Quenya?” Bucky smiled as Fëanor stood up and picked up his calligraphy pen. He looked up at Bucky expectantly and Bucky realized he was asking how he wanted it written.

                “Oh!” he gasped with a blush, “Quenya; Arion doesn’t know much Sindarin. I thought if it was in his native language it might mean that much more to him.” Fëanor nodded and carefully and slowly penned out on the graph on the drafting paper the curved and curling runes of Fëanor’s famous Tangwar runes.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Bucky gaped at the elegant grace of the flowing script, and how easily it flowed from Fëanor’s pen, as easy as breathing. The runes had a grace to them that Bucky knew would make Arion feel very touched that he went to the effort of getting it done by the master of all smiths. When Fëanor was done the script had an elegant curve to it that no English print ever could, and when Fëanor read it aloud it felt like a binding spell.

                “Esse kal or esse mornië, mime mel oira,” he said and Bucky felt chills up his arms at the utterance of his vow. “Very beautiful, Sergeant Barnes; I think Arion will love it.”

Bucky smiled happily and Fëanor took a long look at the soldier. What he found there surprised him but also brought nostalgic warmth to his heart. He found love there; pure and shining bright with a burning fire he had once had with his former wife. And he had no doubt that Arion felt the same way about Bucky as the Sergeant felt about him.

                “You really do love him, don’t you,” he asked softly, and Bucky nodded.

                “Yeah,” he said, “I do.”

                “Good,” the Noldo said, “he needs someone like you, who loves him like you. He couldn’t have asked for a better lover, or betrothed.” Fëanor looked sad but it was a kind of sad that was good. It was a sadness that was purging and renewing; it brought fresh clarity with its wave of sorrow. And with this it was the clarity that Arion had found a lover that held him as dear to his own heart as Fëanor held his children and his father. The Dark-haired Noldo held no love for the second son of Ingwë, but was glad for the union between the elf and the young soldier. Arion was steady and slow to ire, and Bucky was passionate, loyal and burning with an intense desire to learn and bring joy; they were a good match for each other. One’s faults canceling out the others with their strengths. They were complimentary colors mixing to create a perfect neutral. Bucky couldn’t have asked for a better beloved.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter yet. please Beta me!


	14. Commendation and Recommendation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter  
> a ceremony for the commandoes; Steve gets a new medal, and Steven a recommendation for something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Really shorter chapter in this, not a lot going on. I hope you don’t mind the time jump. In this there is to be a medaling ceremony. Never been to one, so I don’t know how they go. I’m just making this up on the fly here

London became a respite for the Commandoes when they weren’t on missions. They spent the time they had drinking and reveling in their continued existence. Steve tired as best he could to court Peggy. Or, rather I should say, attempt to court her. Bucky and the rest of the commandoes sniggered and snorted at his pathetic attempts to impress her, or get her attention.

                “You don’t gotta do all this stuff, Steve,” Bucky told him after a particularly spectacular failure in Steve’s attempt to flirt. Steve had said something rather stupid and unthinking and he was lucky that Peggy had only gotten a little tight around the mouth and eyes before turning away and leaving him there looking like a lost puppy, instead of getting a smack across the face that he well and truly deserved.

Steve huffed and sagged pathetically against the bar, looking down with a moping look of longing on his face into his drink.

                “I just wish I was as smooth a talker as you, Bucky,” Steve bemoaned. Bucky grinned.

                “Peggy’s a world class dame,” Bucky told him, and then picked up his drink with a dry smirk. “Heaven knows why she likes you,” he mumbled into his drink. Steve shot him a sour look, and Bucky grinned. “My point bein’, you don’t have to try so hard to get her attention; you got it! Just stop with all the mushy stuff and be yourself, that’s what she liked in the first place.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulder and tugged at him a bit for comfort. Steve smiled shyly and looked over at his friend, and Bucky once again saw that little scrawny kid from Brooklyn standing on the front steps of his apartment the day he buried his mother.

                “Thanks, Buck,” Steve said softly.

Aside from Steve’s miserable failure in attempting to court Peggy, nothing much happened while they were on leave. Sure, there were a few bar fights where Steve would get this wild and vicious look in his eye and his wholesome smile would turn a little shark like, and the Commandoes would become the holy terrors of the bar; fists swinging and mugs being flung. And when the fight was over they would all be covered in bruises, and they would be laughing like the drunken fools they were. All but Steve and Bucky that is. Steve would already have fading marks on his knuckles, and Bucky was usually untouched, because no one could touch him. Steven avoided the main bar when Steve got that look in his eye, and would sit there calmly, occasionally pushing a chair out with his foot to passively trip a stumbling brawler, and picking up his drink from the table just before it got smashed under the weight of a thrown man. It was comical really to watch him; the only bit of calm in an otherwise violent storm.

The only thing of real note that was going on behind the scenes, was Bucky’s continued courting of Arion in secret. They went on date after date together. Sometimes it was just dinner, sometimes it was dancing and the occasional drink at one of the bars the Commandoes were haunting that evening. Their favorite bar was spared their torment and fights because it was their known haunt. Bucky would take Arion there and they would have a drink or two together before heading back to Arion’s apartment for a long night of heavy petting, or full-blown love making (depending on their mood). And with each new date, and with every added leave they spent together, Bucky grew surer and surer of his love and decision to ask Arion to marry him.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until nearly thanksgiving that something not routine happened. They had just returned from the allied front, and from breaking through the HYDRA blockade that had their allies pinned down for months. Steve was tired and so were the rest of the Commandoes. Steven was especially exhausted, both mentally and physically. For the first time he had used his powers openly against HYDRA in defense of the Commandoes. Men on both sides stopped and stared at the jaw dropping power he had unleashed. Electrical bolts flew from his hands as easy as breathing, and forget about HYDRA’s secret energy weapons; Steven absorbed each blast that struck him as easily as Steve’s Shield. By the end of the battle Steven was vibrating with it, his whole body suffused in a blue-ish white glow and his eyes alight with gold and white light. It was here that Steven used another ability he had been honing on for months: his clones.

Steven couldn’t explain it to anyone to the point they would understand, but essentially Steven combined his ability to manipulate matter and electricity with his telepathic powers to create a living body that he could project a part of his consciousness into. And he didn’t have to be standing next to it to happen. Soldiers on the German side would swear they saw a figure rising out of the dust and ash before it congealed to form a perfect copy of Steven. Their eyes would be dead for a moment before light filled them and they would attack the soldiers frozen in their stupor and fright. Some HYDRA soldier’s that had seen this screamed that Steven was a demon before fleeing from the battle field. Not even the threat of Schmidt’s ire was enough to keep them there.

Steven loved this new skill and grinned joyously at their screams of terror, while the Commandoes watched; pride tinged with respect and a little hint of fear themselves. Bucky found it disturbing but useful, and was proud of Steven for being so creative with his powers. Steve choose wisely not to comment on them, but inwardly was proud of the boy he raised with Bucky. Steven had a strong moral core that would not be shaken by anything or anyone. It was the reason that they were all at Head Quarters instead of out on the town, unwinding.

Commendations; they were all to receive Commendations for their recent efforts in the allied front. Steven was awarded first as the youngest officer. The young lieutenant stood proudly at attention, his face carefully blank, as Philips read out the commendation’s and medals Steven was to be awarded.

                 “For distinguished service in your duties and for valor under fire, this Congress has elected to award First Lieutenant Steven Grant Buchanan with the following medals: for exceptional Bravery and heroism in combat at the first battle at Normandy, we award this Bronze Star with Valor; for your Gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States and these Allied forces, we award this Silver Star; for bravery and valor while wounded, we award this Purple Heart with Valor; and lastly for your Distinguished Service in combat conditions, and your Extraordinary Heroism while in defense of Captain Rogers and freeing our allies from the hands of HYDRA while at risk of your own life, this Congress has unanimously elected to award you this Distinguished Service Cross.” Steven stood a little straighter and his eyes got a little wider at that last one, while Col Philips pinned the very important medals to his chest. Bucky’s eyes got a little misty and his smile tinged with parental pride. Philips moved down the line and pinned similar medals on the breasts of each soldier.

When he got down to Bucky Philips’ smile turned a bit proud, as he read off the commendation.

                “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he stared and Bucky’s back went ramrod straight, “while on the shores of Utah Beach, you and your companions moved to the aid of your fellow allies trapped on Omaha. With no thought to your own safety you charged into a German machinegun nest and disabled the gunner and operator, before turning the gun on the trench itself. You continued to hold this position while fighting off Germans from every direction, giving our men on the beach head enough time to blast through the road block that prevented them from moving up the beach. After running out of ammunition you fought off all advances in hand to hand combat for over a half hour until Captain Rogers and the rest of your unit could give aid. For your Extraordinary Heroism that day, this congress has elected to award you a Distinguished Service Cross.” Philips pinned the medal on Bucky’s uniform and Bucky struggled to restrain his grin.

                “Not a medal of honor,” he asked softly, honestly surprised, and Philips glared back.

                “You’re lucky you’re even getting this one,” he growled, “considering that Captain Rogers didn’t give the order to aid the Omaha forces until _after_ you went off on your own." Bucky smiled a bit more sheepishly at that. Philips turned to Steve and his shoulders sagged a little. “Do I have to even say why?” he asked rhetorically to the grinning Captain.

                “No, sir,” Steve said softly, while Philips pinned the third Distinguished Service Cross of Steve’s career on the Captain’s chest.

                “Well,” he said, “there, now I’m done with you.” The unit all clicked their heels and saluted their senior Officer before going at rest and giving each other congratulations. “One more thing, Buchanan,” he said and they all stopped.

                “Yes, sir,” Steven asked.

                “I got an early look at the promotion list, and I saw a name on it that might interest all of you,” he said. The Commandoes looked at each other, wondering who was getting a promotion. Eight sets of eyes looked at the Colonel in curious question. “Congratulations, Lieutenant; or should I say... Captain.”

Steven’s jaw just about hit the floor, and he wasn’t the only one. Bucky and Steve were wearing identical expressions of dumbfounded shock, while the rest of the commandoes were varied in their intensity. As it began to sink in, Steven’s wide open mouth began to pull into a wide and blindingly bright grin. The other’s all started to smile and grin as well before Steven finally found his voice again.

                “Really; Captain?” he asked in shock. Philips grumpy face pulled into a proud smile. He had seen that boy grow from a tiny little bundle no longer than his forearm into the strong and brave man before him, and it still amazed him that he had so much humility and modesty as he had. The kid could fight like a cold blooded demon on the battle field, but was as sweet as the innocent boy he was when off it.

                “Yes, really,” he confirmed, and Steven was swamped with congratulatory handshakes and hugs from his fellow soldiers. Officer or not, Steven was as close to the enlisted men of his unit as if he were an enlisted man too. “I ain’t finished yet!” he shouted over the din, and they all stopped. “Better. As well as being given a promotion to Captain, Buchanan here has been recommended for a command of his own unit in the SSR, to fight in tandem with your unit, Captain Rogers. You’re going to need to pick out your team, and we’ve already got a short list ready for you. Some of Captain Rogers’ unit will rotate with yours until you become a cohesive force. Now if that’s all, I want you all to get out and celebrate. But not too hard! It ain’t official yet; they could still yank it! So behave yourselves!”

                “YESSIR!” the Commandoes said in unison. Philips shooed them off with a gesture.

                “It’s like minding a bunch of teenagers,” he grumbled as Steve and the Commandoes all went out for a long celebratory drink.

                “Congratulations, Stevie,” Bucky said once he pulled him aside. The Sergeant pulled Steven into a hug full of pride and joy, which Steven returned with vigor. Steve wrapped his arms around Steven’s back and the two of them squished Steven in a group hug. “I am so proud of you!” Bucky said when he pulled away.

                “We both are, Steven,” Steve said. “You deserve this; you earned this!” Steven smiled brightly for a moment before his grin turned wild and mischievous.

                “Wait ‘til I tell Dad,” he laughed, “he’s gonna freak!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortest chapter yet. the story is finished; regular updates to follow now. will update in a few days. after i give it a proof read, first.   
> next is the big proposal. music in that chapter and a link too, so listen to it.


	15. Plighting His Troth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the switch up, I skipped this one, the next will be up with the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is it: the big event! Bucky’s gonna do it! Please bear with my insanity, and let me explain. Bucky’s not really a guy, and as far as anyone knows or is concerned Arion is a woman named Míriel Adria. No one would know that it was Bucky being topped other than the Commandoes and they won’t say anything because they care too much about him. Also Bucky is technically married to the guy already he just wants to make it official on paper as his beneficiary and relation by marriage.  
> Now that all that is over with, on to the fic, and please Review!

~~***

Bucky paced the back of the bar in nervous panic, his hand running over the smooth soft velvet of the little blue box. So much was happening all at once, and for a moment Bucky didn’t think now was the right time. Steven had just received word from the higher ups that his Promotion was a guarantee, and as such the Commandoes had all decided to take their Lieutenant out for one last drink as a member of the Howling Commandoes. Bucky leaned against the wall and looked toward the ceiling as he remembered what had happened.

~~**

* * *

 

They were returning from the front for a well-earned leave. It was only a short leave but it was so close to Christmas that Bucky and the rest were thankful for it, as it gave them all a chance to buy their last minute gifts for their friends and loved ones. For Bucky it was perfect timing, because while overseas on the Continent, Bucky had received a message from Fëanor telling him that the rings were finished and that he could pick them up at any time; or Fëanor could have them sent to his barracks via messenger. Bucky opted for the Colonel to send it to his apartment shared with the rest of the guys, rather than risk going to see him and someone asking why he was there. Fëanor followed his wishes, and, sure enough, there, on his foot locker, when he returned, was a little parcel wrapped in brown paper on top of a larger package addressed from his parents. Bucky snatched the packages up and stole away into a private room where he could open them in peace. The smaller box was unmarked, save for a stamp on the top of an eight pointed star. Bucky smirked at the stamp seal on the box, but tore into it all the same. Inside was a simple dark blue velvet box with a gold lipped seam, and etched into or maybe pressed into the velvet was Fëanor’s seal of the eight pointed star. Bucky opened the box given Fëanor’s own personal seal of approval, and smiled at the beautiful and simple bands within.

There were two sets, one silver pair, one gold pair, and only the gold had the engraved letters written on the bands. They were simple in their elegance and Bucky loved them, but most of all they were sized perfectly to fit their intended wearers.  Bucky took the gold bands out of the box and smiled when he picked up the delicate Mithril chain they were bound with. Setting them aside, Bucky opened the parcel from home. In it were his mother’s ring and a letter from each member of his family, including his very old grandfather very near to his deathbed. Bucky felt as if he might break out into tears when he saw that his mother had even sent the royal purple velvet box his father had used to propose to his mother with.

The ring was really his mother’s ring from her own mother. It had been in the family for generations, passed from mother to eldest child; be it son or daughter. It was made of the finest white gold and silver, with a flawless yellow diamond in the center of a wire spun flower and surrounded by a cluster of three white tiny diamonds on either side; signifying the leaves of the flower. It was Bucky’s favorite piece of his mother’s jewelry, and it was his family’s most valuable heirloom. Thus it touched him beyond reason that his family was giving it to him.

For a moment Bucky has a moment of blind panic as he realized he might have to get the ring re-sized, but remembered that while a dainty looking lady his mother had large hands, just like many of the women from her family. Thus the ring had already been sized to perfection, because while strong and manly as they were, Arion had rather fine boned hands, which had long and slim fingers.

Bucky picked up the chain with the gold bands and placed them inside the older box, and put the engagement ring in with the silver betrothal bands. He put the older box away in his foot locker, and had just stuffed the blue box in his coat pocket, when Steve opened the door. Bucky froze and looked up at his friend like a deer caught in headlights for a moment before he had smiled.

                “Hey,” Bucky had said, “what’s with the frown?” Bucky had asked when he saw Steve’s concerned and troubled face.

                “It’s nothing,” Steve had tried to brush off, but Bucky simply gave Steve his classic ‘don’t screw with me, Steve’ face, and the blond Captain folded like a stack of cards. “Steven’s promotion just came through.” Bucky visibly brightened.

                “Well, that’s great news,” Bucky had said with a smile. “So why are you lookin’ all sour and glum, Steve?” Steve had sighed, and finally met his friend’s eyes.

                “They want to keep him behind from missions until after the New Years,” he’d answered. Bucky’s face dropped a little. “Bucky, we’ve got missions right after the New Years, and they want to pull him from the roster until after they’ve had him pick out and train with his new team. He won’t be out there with us for two or maybe even three weeks after the first.” Bucky had felt his hopes sink.

                “Oh,” he’d said dejectedly and palmed the box in his pocket for a moment. “I guess we’ll just have to ring in the New Year with somethin’ to remember, I guess!” Bucky conjured up a smile and gripped the box again, strengthening his resolve. He had wanted to wait a few days until the New Year’s Eve party before he asked, but he wanted to give his son a few good days with his parent’s planning the wedding before he and the others went on their next tour.

Steve had looked at him with bazaar curiosity, before he shrugged it off, and told Bucky that they would be at the pub for Steven’s big send off before his promotion.

That was two hours ago, and now Bucky was waiting to pick up Arion from his apartment a few blocks over. With a glance over at the Commandoes and Steve to make sure they were focused on Steven and their drinks, Bucky slipped out of the Pub to fetch his date. Arion meets him at the lobby of the apartment in that same stunning red dress that had Bucky’s tongue tied in knots and on the floor. Arion smiled at him and Bucky offered the blond beauty his arm, and together the two walked arm in arm off to a light dinner before heading to the Pub to celebrate with the others. ~*~**

~***~~~

* * *

 

When they got inside the piano was playing romantic tunes and Christmas songs. Bucky smiled and greeted the guys. He took a look around and realized the whole gang was here, even Stark had managed to pull himself away from his lab for the night. Bucky left Arion by the bar with Howard as company, (and if he started hitting on his date, so help him, Bucky was gonna smash his face in) and went to talk to the piano player. He was a nice enough guy, and on occasion took requests. Tonight Bucky had a request that would help him set the stage for his little question. The pianist finished his song and smiled at Bucky.

                “Hello there, Serge,” he said, “What can I do for ya?”

                “Any chance you know some Irving Berlin songs?” Bucky asked and nervously licked his lip. The man smiled and shrugged a little.

                “I know a few,” he said, “why, which one you got in mind?” Bucky swallowed down his fluttering nerves and looked over at Arion at the bar. Arion looked just as beautiful as the day he walked through the door in that red dress, and he found that he loved him more than ever. He wanted to be with Arion for now and for always, and in an instant, Bucky knew which song he wanted their song to be.

                “ _Always_ ,” he said to the English pianist, “I want to hear ‘ _Always’_. It says everything I want to say tonight.”  Bucky looked back at the man with pleading eyes. “Could ya play that one for me?” the Pianist looked over where Bucky had been staring and swallowed the lump in his throat brought on by longing and memories.

                “Sure, Serge,” he said roughly and turned back to his piano, “I can play ya that one.”

The piano was freshly tuned so the notes to the very beginning of the intro rang out in the rowdy bar and caught the attention of the Commandoes sitting near it. Steve heard the song start and instantly recognized it. That song was Bucky’s favorite from back home, and he had even gone so far as to by the record to play on their player for weeks on end after he first heard it. As a result, Steve knew the words by heart, and smiled before nudging the others to look over at Bucky. They all look up at the music change and Stark almost turns off the microphone recorder when they stop talking. Steve stood up and the others follow him over to the piano to hum and make some harmony. The pianist played the song once and then started over as Bucky took Arion’s hand to dance slowly in the middle of the bar room. The floor was open enough for them to slowly waltz to the tune, and Bucky smiled when he heard Steve and the other’s humming to the song. The two kept on dancing, even when Steve and the others started singing. Stark sat the recorder on the piano for prime sound recording, and watched and listened as the Commandoes and Captain America began to sing a love song.

* * *

 

 _“Everything went wrong,_  
And the whole day long  
I'd feel so blue.  
For the longest while  
I'd forget to smile,  
Then I met you.  
Now that my blue days have passed,  
Now that I've found you at last -

 _I'll be loving you always_  
With a love that's true always.  
When the things you've planned  
Need a helping hand,  
I will understand always.

_Always._

_Days may not be fair always,_  
That's when I’ll be there always.  
Not for just an hour,  
Not for just a day,  
Not for just a year,  
But always.

 _I’ll be loving you, oh always_  
With a love that's true always.  
When the things you've planned  
Need a helping hand,  
I will understand always.

_Always._

_Days may not be fair always,_  
That's when I’ll be there always.  
Not for just an hour,  
Not for just a day,  
Not for just a year,  
But always.

 _Not for just an hour,_  
Not for just a day,  
Not for just a year,  
But always.”

* * *

 

The song takes them all away to somewhere better for a moment, and they all smile as Bucky and Arion danced around the small dance floor they made for themselves. When they finished singing, the pianist continued to play the song, and it becomes background music for Bucky to find his courage. Somewhere in the dancing, Arion laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder and closed his eyes as he took in the simple love and vow of the lyrics. Bucky pulled away and Arion looked through hooded eyes at Bucky’s loving face.

                “Arion,” he said softly, “Míriel; oh my beautiful Mírë,” He said more confidently and louder. Bucky swallowed down a nervous chuckle and finally let go of all the words bubbling up inside him about Arion that he had held inside for months. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, or where I would be. You brought joy and light into my life again,” he said and then more softly, “and not just because of our son.” Bucky looked down and stuffed his hands in his pockets, palming the velvet box that lay there. “I love you, probably have for a long time, but I was too chicken shit scared to say anything!”

Arion giggled and the Commandoes sniggered behind their hands. Bucky glared over at them and found looks of innocence and feigned confusion on their faces, and Steve wouldn’t even look him in the eye. Bucky rolled his eyes and pressed on.

                “You gave me life again, after I felt like I was dead inside and not worthy of love, but you gave it to me. Míriel, I love you,” he said with wide and honest eyes. He bore his heart out to Arion in this moment and all he could do was hope the elf wouldn’t crush it. “I have loved you for a while. And somethin’s changed, Mírë; I’ve changed. And I can only hope for the better.” Arion smiled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky leaned into the kiss, and drew strength from it.

                “I don’t know how else I can tell you that I love you, Mírë,” he said, and slowly pulled the box out of his pocket. Arion’s smile became puzzled, and his eyes searched Bucky’s face for clues. “But maybe this will show you.” Arion was still smiling, more than likely expecting a kiss and then Bucky slowly got down on one knee.

The whole room went quiet, and even the piano faltered for a second before it continued to play. Steve and the Commandoes stood gob smacked at the sight of Bucky down on one knee. Steven was stunned to complete silence, and his drink clunked back onto the table from his slackened grip. No one said a word as Bucky took Arion’s hands and smiled at him with all the love and devotion he felt in his heart.

                “Míriel,” Bucky croaked through his emotions, “I love you more than anything in the whole world! You complete me, and I never thought anyone would.”

He looked down to his hand and opened the blue velvet box. He held it up and Arion gasped. One hand went to his opened mouth as tears of shock welled up in his eyes. In the box was his mother’s engagement ring and one of the silver bands, and when Arion looked back to his beloved soldier, he could see the other one dangling from his dog-tag chain. Arion brought both his hands up to cover his shocked mouth as tears began to flow. One hand dropped to rest over Arion’s thudding heart on his chest while the other barely held in his overflowing emotions.

Bucky just smiled and asked him the one question that would forever be burned into his heart and memory: “Míriel Adria; my beautiful Mírë, will you make me the happiest soldier in the whole world and be my wife?” Arion dropped the hand on his mouth to wrap around Bucky’s outstretched hand, the other joined it, and with a teary laugh Arion smiled; tears finally flowing.

                “Yes,” Arion sobbed happily, “yes, James, I will marry you!” Bucky’s smile was a million watts, as it brightened his whole being and filled him with an over flowing bounty of joy. With tears blurring his eyes, Bucky whipped them away before taking the engagement ring out of the box and slipping it onto Arion’s left ring finger. The silver band went on its traditional place on the left forefinger, and Arion cupped his hands around Bucky’s face before he pulled Bucky up into a bruising kiss, drawing him back to his feet.

Cheers and wolf whistles erupt throughout the pub, as Bucky finally wrapped his arms around Arion and returned the kiss with vigor. A flash bulb went off, indicating someone (probably Stark) had taken their picture. Bucky could care less. He was currently the happiest man on the planet, as tears flowed freely down his face. He pulled away and began to laugh and smile, through his tears, like he had just been given the moon.

                “Way to go, Serge!”

                “Atta boy, Barnes!”

                “Congratulations!”

Throngs of well-wishers and congratulators surrounded Bucky and his betrothed to slap the sergeant on the back and shake his hand. Steve even pulled Bucky into a bone crushing hug with his congratulations. Steven pushed through the surrounding throng of congratulating fellows, and came before his parents with the biggest smile on his face that he had ever had before in his life. Over flowing with joy Steven throws himself at them and wrapped his arms around them, laughing and smiling like a loon.  The two parents return the hug with equal vigor and Bucky pressed a kiss to his son’s ear.

                “So when’s the big event, Buck?” Steve asked when the crowd thinned back down to the Commandoes and Stark. Bucky smiled at his friend, and tugged Arion closer to his side.

                “When we get back,” he answered. “I got it all ready. I’ve been planning this for a few weeks. I got permission from the higher ups that, barring anything world ending, we’ll all be able to go back to New York for the wedding. My mom will kill me if she misses the wedding! There’s this nice cathedral mom wants the ceremony at. You remember it, Steve: St. Pats. You always said you’d get married there with me; a double wedding.” Bucky’s eyebrows danced and Steve blushed at the memory of that promise to his friend. St Patricks’ Cathedral was a catholic church but the two of them loved the chapel, and always thought it would look really nice dolled up for a wedding.

                “You ever gonna ask her, Steve?” Bucky teased. “I’ll be willing to share my wedding if you get around to asking Peggy.” Steve laughed; blushing a flattering shade of rose under the scrutiny of his friends.

                “Maybe after this next mission, Buck,” he said, and cleared his throat to regain his composure. “We still gotta get HYDRA, and that Zola, before that.” Bucky laughed and brushed off the momentary hurt of the broken promise.

                “You’re too much of a workaholic, Steve,” he pointed out, “you gotta live your life too. Stop puttin’ things off, or you might find it too late; that you waited too long.”

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: that’s it; that is the end of OC character development for a bit. Onto Cannon stuff next; I hope I make you all cry! I had this scene ready a long time before I wrote the outline. One of my favorite scenes, because it was so lovey-dovey and because it was immediately followed by cannon and well, the saddest part of the story.  
> The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_kNWZOhzBg  
> Next are the aftermath of the train and the reactions of people other than Steve; hope you like. Please review, it makes me happy and helps me get this finished. Three more to go!


	16. "He Fell!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the saddest Chapter of them all, have tissues handy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is probably the saddest part of the story so have tissues ready, just in case. This is where I crush hopes and dreams of my Characters, so just understand that it will come out alright, in the end; and I do mean the end.  
> We also meet Arion’s father soon, and understand a little more about what the consequences of Arion’s actions for the Allies were for him.

~**~*

* * *

 

Steven and Arion spent the morning after his promotion ceremony together. Bucky had told them to try and get along better, seeing as the two of them begin father and son would be official when he got back. Bucky had laughed and kissed his son’s pointed ear, just as he always did, before he kissed Arion goodbye. For a long moment, Bucky lingered outside the door as a wave of foreboding dread passed through him. It felt like a premonition that something bad was going to happen, but he had no idea what. The brunette shook his head and slowly walked away, and with each step he took the more it felt like he would never see them again. So by the time he was at the transport plane, Bucky was troubled and nervous.

Steve saw the pensive look on Bucky’s face and nudged his shoulder to get his attention. When Bucky looked up, he saw Steve’s worried face and willed his bad feelings about the mission away.

                “Hey, you okay, Bucky?” Steve asked softly. Obviously Bucky wasn’t fast enough in covering his inner turmoil. Bucky pushed down his fears and pulled up a disarming smile.

                “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine, just a bit nervous about getting this done. I mean, if this Intel is right, we could be nabbing Zola, and we’ll be that much closer to finishing off HYDRA once and for all.” Steve smirked and threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulder; much like the elder man had done for him to get him out of his blue states, and pulled him into his side.

                “Just think, Buck,” Steve said conspiratorially, “by this time next month, you’ll be a married man, and we’ll have Schmidt by the throat.” Bucky looked back at his friend with a look of dark mischievous glee.

                “I get first crack at him, right?” he asked with a giddy smile. Steve grinned and chortled loudly before stifling it in Bucky’s jacket.

                “Do you even have to ask, Bucky?” Steve asked rhetorically. Bucky shrugged nonchalantly and smiled all the same.

                “Nah,” he said, “I was just makin’ sure you knew first. I am so going to relish making sure that little rat Zola pays for all he did!” Bucky’s contemplative smile was dark and all teeth, and nothing friendly about it. Steve leaves his friend to his dark fantasies and went to look over the plans again.

By the time they had made it up the mountain side and had the zip line all in place, everything was planned down the last detail. They set up camp and pitched their tents for the night, to wait for the train to pass their way later the next day. Bucky and Steve shared their tent, just as the others were doubling up to conserve warmth and because there was really no room on the little out cropping across the ravine from the tracks. Steve and Bucky lay down for the night and again Bucky was overcome by a wave of dread and foreboding. It stayed with him all night through his sleep and into the morning. Though he rested alright, Bucky was a bundle of nerves when they set up the radio to listen for the communications from the train to the station.

Bucky looked down at the tracks and the zip line and felt that sense of doom thrum through his entire body. He could absently hear the thin conversation on the radio, and finally he couldn’t keep his foreboding to himself, but he had no idea how to tell Steve something bad was going to happen. So he brought up an old memory that he knew Steve would connect to a bad feeling.

                “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” he asked with a smile to hide his fear.

                “Yeah,” Steve answered, “and I threw up?” Bucky looked down at the ledge and the zip line going down over the tracks.

                “This isn’t payback, is it?” he asked nervously, and Steve looked up at the wire with a wry smile.

                “Now why would I do that?” he shot back.

                “We were right,” Gabe said, drawing their attention away from the terrifying drop. “Dr. Zola’s on the train. HYDRA dispatcher just gave ‘em permission to open up the throttle.” Steve and Bucky approached their friend and puzzled over the new information. The foreboding feeling in Bucky’s gut moved to a torrent in his chest. Something was going to happen; something bad. “Wherever he’s goin’, they must need him bad.” Bucky gave Steve a look that spoke volumes and Steve seemed to understand what he was thinking.

Steve put on his helmet. Bucky rolled his eyes and nodded looking up to steel his nerves, knowing that bad feeling or not, they were going to take Zola in. Everyone moved to the line, behind Steve and got ready to do their parts. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Falsworth watching the tracks with his binoculars and looking for the train. Bucky heard it first, and the steeled nerves fluttered back to life again. The sense of doom was strong, but he pushed it down when Falsworth took the binoculars away from his face.

                “Let’s get going,” he said, “because they’re moving like the devil.” He sounded concerned and Bucky felt a bit better now that he wasn’t the only one that felt nervous.  Of all the stupid ideas Steve had come up with, this one took the cake.

                “We've only got about a 10 second window,” Steve said once he settled his pulley onto the line. “You miss that window; we're bugs on a windshield!” Falsworth looked at the train and felt the need to retort.

                “Mind the gap,” he said wryly.

                “Better get movin’, Bugs,” Dugan added with a morbid humor. They waited for Dernier’s signal and it came. The Frenchman said something and dropped his raised arm, indicating they were to go. Steve pushed off and whizzed down the line as Bucky snapped his pulley on the line. Bucky pushed off at Dernier’s signal and followed Steve down onto the train. The moment he dropped on the train, he felt a wave of that same foreboding dread, as if he had just sealed his fate.

Bucky followed Steve inside and pushed the fear away. He had a job to do.

~*~**~

* * *

 

                “Maybe you should wear grandmother’s dress,” Steven said with a smile. “With a few alterations, it could be a perfect match to your style!” Steven giggled and Arion smiled warmly with a bright blush. Arion agreed to stay on base while they planed the wedding, and Steven was having fun indulging in the idea of being in a wedding.

                “Well, if your Ada insists on it being a traditional wedding, I might,” Arion laughed.  Steven fell back on the cot, chortling and holding his sides. The two rolled with laughter for a moment before Steven regained his composure.

                “Seriously,” he said breathlessly, “you would look great in it. I may not have seen it in person, but it looks a lot like that red dress you wear that drives Ada wild! And I think Ada might want a military wedding, seeing as his best suit is a Uniform.” Steven smiled honestly and Arion made a noise of assent, before smiling.

                “Hm, perhaps,” he said with a cheeky smile.

The two continued to gossip and plot about the ceremony and the outfits they would be wearing. Steven knew that his military dress uniform would be his only choice, and he was looking forward to seeing New York for the first time. He may have always said he was Brooklyn born and bred to the troops he met, but he had never set eyes on the city. He wanted to see his Ada’s home.

Suddenly Arion gasped and went pale as a sheet. The glass in his hand fell from his limp grasp to shatter on the floor, exploding in to shards of glass everywhere. Steven put his glass down and moved to carefully kneel beside his father, mindful of the shards of glass now scattered all over the floor. Arion was gasping for breath as multiple emotions ran across his face; fear, despair, helplessness, anger, and finally anguish contorted his face. He clutched his chest and sagged into Steven as his mouth opened in a scream.

At first Steven didn’t understand what has happened, and started to ask Arion what was wrong.

                “Father,” he asked, “father, what is it? What’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it Steve, is it…” he stopped afraid to ask, and then he felt it: it was akin to the snapping of a thread within his mind, a link he didn’t even know was there was severed, and Steven clutched at his chest as the pain of it seemed to pierce his very heart.

Despair and grief filled his mind, along with impotent rage, and it took him a moment to realize that these emotions did not originate from within himself but from someone else. Steven had always been able to feel emotions of others if their thoughts were too chaotic to read, and whoever he was getting the reading on was in great emotional distress.

Steven desperately tried to detangle the invading emotions from his own, when he heard the sound of the base door opening. Steven turned around and saw the Commandoes returning. For a moment Steven started to smile, until he took in the Commandoes faces, their expressions; they were all visages of grief and anger. Steve’s expression was the most telling: he looked crushed. He looked as if his entire world had just come crashing down before his very eyes and even with all his newfound strength and speed he couldn’t stop it. He looked as if a light had just been snuffed out of his soul, leaving a shell behind. Steven didn’t see his Ada amongst the group, and stood up to question them as to his location.

Steve must have seen his movement out of the corner of his eye, for when he turned and Saw Steven, he looked even more anguished. Steven felt the icy grip of fear clench his heart as Steve came purposefully towards him.

                “Steve,” he asked slowly, growing fear thinning his voice to something almost childlike in its tone, “where’s Bucky; where’s my Ada?”

A look of agony crossed Steve’s face as tears spilled out from reddened eyes. He looked over at Arion, who was shaking his head in denial and despair. Steve turned his gaze back on Steven as the tears fell, and clenched his jaw in an attempt to steel himself from the pain of his message.

                “We were…” Steve faltered as fresh tears fell, “there… there was an accident, Stevie. Your Ada… he… He fell!” Arion sobbed and broke down into tears of anguish; he knew what Steve meant. Steven shook his head in denial. He did not believe it, or refused to believe it. Steve shed more tears, and it was as if the dam had burst, and everything tumbled out in a torrent of half sobbing words of grief. “The side of the train was blasted open. Bucky… he tried to protect me! He picked up the shield, but … he… it… the blast was too strong, it blew him out the side of the train!” Steve was falling apart as Steven’s world came crumbling down around him. “I tried to reach him! The rail broke! He fell… into the ravine! I couldn’t grab him in time! Steven, I am so sorry!”

Steven felt detached and in shock, unable to shed tears as the reality settled in that his Ada, the one that had given birth to him, been with him his whole life, was gone.

                “Where’s the body?” he asked with a choked voice, looking over Steve’s shoulder to the Commandoes behind him. They looked wrecked. Steve was silent, and Steven finally forced himself to meet his eyes. “Did you even go back for him?” Steve closed his eyes in pain, but remained silent. “Did you even try?!”

Steve’s continued silence was damning. Steven was suddenly filled with blind fury as he looked at Steve. In his grief fueled rage he shoved Steve back as hard as he could. Steve fell to the floor with a thud and looked up in pleading grief and guilt at his best friend’s son. Steven’s face was filled with target-less ire, as he turned his grief fueled rage on Steve. Steven gripped his hair in his fisted hands, trying to control the torrent of emotions running through him. Tears of grief and anger were squeezed from his tightly clenched eyes, and his mouth was opened to reveal his tightly clenched teeth.

Steven opened his eyes and turned their wrath on Steve; Hands fell from his hair and clenched at his sides; shaking with barely controlled fury.

                “ _He could still be alive!_ _You left him there to **DIE**!_ ” he screamed, and Steve flinched hard at the accusation as if he had been struck. Shock and despair filled Steve’s eyes with tears but he remained silent; thinking he deserved Steven’s wrath and hatred. Steven looked up at all the commandoes, who refused to look him in the eye, and became filled with a terrible resolve. His jaw clenched and his eyes burned with barely controlled fury.

As quick as a cat he grabbed the nearest rucksack and started filling it with supplies. A med kit, rations, climbing tools, a small portable radio, and one of Stark’s latest inventions, a handheld tape recorder, left on a desk absentmindedly; all of it went into the sack before Steven grabbed his wool jacket, the red one that looked just like Bucky’s, and tore off for the door.

                “Steven, where are you going?” Dugan shouted as he jumped up to grab the distraught boy. Steven opened the door and looked back at his former team.

                “To find my Adar,” he said, with a choked voice. He turned to leave the bunker and head for the airstrip, when Dugan’s shout stopped him and forced him to listen.

“You can’t just get on a plane and go off on your own, kid!” Dugan shouted above the howling wind and noisy propeller blades. “You won’t find him!” Steven turned back with determined fury in his eyes, and an iron resolve.

                “Watch me!” he growled and bolted for the taxing plane on the runway.

Steven ran with every ounce of speed in his system, and caught the plane before he opened the door and shut it behind him; deaf to the screams and cries of the Commandoes and Steve to stop and wait. He was lucky; it was a transport plane heading for Europe. Steven grabbed one of the parachutes and strapped into it. His guns were always at his sides and in his holsters, even on leave, so he checked their ammunition and holstered them. His bayonet got a cursory check before Steven headed for the pilot cabin. The pilot and copilot were startled by his presence, and even more so when he glared at them with all his grief fueled hate.

                “You don’t turn around,” he ordered, “you keep this plane in the air until you get to your target zone, and then you’re going to go to the coordinates I give you before you head back.”

The men looked at each other in fear, hearing the orders over the radio to circle back down and land. Steven felt and saw their unwillingness to follow his order, so, against every moral code he had made for himself, Steven pressed his will upon them and removed the return to base orders from their memories. They did as they were told and flew up and to their target zone to parachute the new troops in. ~**~

* * *

 

Steve watched in helplessness as the plane carrying Steven to Europe flew out of sight, orders to return to base ignored or not even heard. Steve and the commandoes go back inside to give their report, and hopefully salvage Steven’s career, if he returned. After all Steven was a Captain in his own right, and was sanctioned to go off on missions, but a solo mission to recover a body was fruitless and pointless for someone who was to be helping Steve, and the SSR, take down HYDRA.

Steve sighed and hung his head as he finally sat down beside Arion. The blond elf was beside himself with grief, his tears running down his face like rivers. Steve gently took his hands in his grasp and tried to offer some kind of comfort to the elf.

                “We would have gone back,” he said and Arion raised his head to meet Steve’s gaze. “But… we were already too far into enemy territory.” Steve sniffed back some tears and gripped Arion’s hands a little bit tighter. “I wanted to go back, but the blizzard… it made any attempt to search impossible. We couldn’t get down the mountain into the ravine, there was too much snow, and we… we… oh, Arion! I’m so sorry!” Steve sobbed and buried his head in Arion’s lap. “ _It’s all my fault_! If I had _just_ reached a little _further_ …”

                “It’s not your fault, Steve,” Arion interrupted, causing Steve to pick his head up from the elf’s lap and look up at his face. “I know you wouldn’t have left him there, and you would have never let him die! You don’t have to blame yourself.” Steve buried his face in Arion’s skirt to hide his tears.

                “I should have grabbed him!” Steve sobbed. “I … I got my best friend _killed_!”

                “Steve,” Arion said weakly, causing the captain to look up again. “If you feel it is your fault, and you need my forgiveness, then it is given: _I forgive you_.” Steve smiled brokenly at the elf, and Arion did nothing to hide the absolutely crushed look on his face, before burying it in his hands and sobbing brokenly. Steve stood and quickly sat down on the cot, before gathering Arion into his arms, and burying his face in his hair to hide the tears and muffle the sobs.

The Commandoes left them alone to grieve, and went to write their reports before finding a way to grieve themselves. ~*~*

~*~**

* * *

 

Steven parachuted onto the cliff side where the Commandoes had last camped. He headed for the last place his Ada would have been and found the Zip line still in place. Steven had every ounce of confidence in his powers to stop himself before he hit the other side in a splat, so he grabbed the discarded extra pulley and zipped down the line to the tracks below. He ducked and rolled when he came to a stop, and looked around contemplating his next move. After a moment of reasoning, Steven figured that the best option was to follow the tracks until he found debris before making his way down to the valley floor to search for his Ada. There could have been a million places he had landed, but Steven only wanted to find Bucky before his Ada truly did die.

You see, Steven knew that his Ada was altered from the experiments, and there was a possibility, however remote, that Bucky could still be alive; more than likely badly hurt and in need of help, but alive. Steven knew that Bucky could die of exposure before he bled out, and Steven didn’t want to waste time. So he trudged across the tracks to a more even strip of ground, before taking off at his fastest run. Hopefully he would find Bucky before something else did. Time was running short; he had already spent nearly a week trying to find the camp.

~*~*

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: well coming to the end here and the next two chapters may only be very short, but please read, because they are important. I can’t wait to get started on the second in the series, and hear your reviews on it and the progress and direction I am taking the universe. I promise there will be fun in the next story; lots of angst and character torture, but fun too; background stuff and all that jazz. Please kudos me and review, if only to give me some encouragement to continue; because, frankly, I may abandon it if I get discouraged. No, I won’t! But please, review!  
>  


	17. There are Consequences to Ones Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more depressing stuff, and cannon. Steve goes after Schmidt, and we find out the consequences of Arion's actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this will be really sad, and depressing. This chapter has a lot of OC stuff but basically explains some things about Arion and is the winding down of the story. After this it is all my own speculation and partial cannon. Please don’t hate me and Beta me please! Essentially this is the Swansong of the story, basically the end, after this it is a Post credit scene we all know and love from Marvel. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. The next part might come out a bit slower as it gets colder, but I will have a small timestamp for you that I couldn’t fit into the timeline for this fic. Call it a deleted scene. It will be labeled in the AO3 series, or added to the end on FF.net as a bonus.

~**~~

* * *

 

The days after Steven left were hard on everyone, Steve and Arion especially. Steve spent his time trying to understand what went wrong, and where he could have done better to prevent Bucky from falling to his death. Arion spent his days in a state of bleak mourning; with a faint and fading hope that Steven would return and bring Bucky back with him. The two of them avoided each other as much as possible, and tried in their own way to make sense of the emotions running through their heads. By the third of February, there was still no word on Steven’s location or actions since he went off in search of Bucky. The men he had manipulated into doing what he wanted were not charged for any crimes, and Philips was putting out any attempt to besmirch Steven’s good name; he went a long way towards protecting him by making Steven’s actions look like a sanctioned rescue/recovery mission. But it did little to sooth the throb and sting Steve felt at Steven’s accusations. It didn’t help that Steve thought the young captain was right; that it was his fault Bucky was gone, and he didn’t do enough to go back for him.

On the sixth, Philips had to finally declare Bucky Missing in Action, assumed dead. When Steve heard, it pushed him over the edge. It was night, and there was an air raid on London, but Steve still went out, desperate to find some relief that didn’t remind him of Bucky. He wandered the streets looking for solace for hours, before he found himself on a familiar street. He walked purposefully towards the Pub and realized that it had taken a direct hit from one of the bombs. There was little left of the Commandoes favorite bar, but Steve didn’t care. He simply righted one of the tables, ironically the same table he had recruited his team at, and grabbed a glass that had survived the explosion and a full bottle of liquor. By the time Peggy found him, he had finished the bottle and several others, and was well on his way to finishing another, when she climbed over the debris to talk to him.

Steve heard her and poured himself another drink, as he swallowed back his tears and spoke to her.

                “Dr. Erskine said that the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means, um,” he paused to look helplessly down into his glass, “…I can’t get drunk. Did you know that?” Peggy settled in a little seeing Steve’s morose and bleak expression.

                “Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.” Peggy was as honest as she needed to be, and saw how fragile Steve was at the moment. She didn’t add in that there were other suspected side effects that may make him even more depressed. Instead she stayed silent. There was a moment of long silence filled with depression and despair before she spoke.

                “It wasn’t your fault,” she finally said, trying to lift his spirits. It didn’t work; in fact, he seemed even more depressed.

                “Did you read the reports,” he asked.

                “Yes,” she answered softly. Steve scoffed self depreciatingly at her answer, as if it were obvious his guilt.

                “Then you know that’s not true,” he said barely holding back his tears. “Even Steven knew that. And he was right. I should have gone back, tried to do something, but… I just left him there.”

                “You did everything you could,” Peggy said. She saw Steve wasn’t buying her encouragement and gathered her wits to try again to raise him out of his self-loathing. “Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?” she asked, and Steve looked up at her, the answer of yes in his face and eyes. He had such an honest and kind face. He was too good for this broken world and the war he fought in, and it finally left the scars Bucky feared Steve would get from the war; only taking his death to do it. “Then stop blaming yourself,” She said gently. “Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.” In her heart, Peggy knew Steven would have said the same thing, if he hadn’t have been fueled by grief and rage.

Steve’s look of grief hardened into rage, and resolve; his eyes still not moved from his glass. Peggy could hear the air raid sirens going off in the distance, and prayed that nowhere else in the world had to hear that dreaded sound.

                “I’m goin’ after Schmidt,” Steve said his hardened resolve. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til all of HYDRA’s dead or captured.” Peggy hated that cold tone in his voice, and what it meant for Steve in the end.

                “You won’t be alone,” she reassured him. Steve’s bleak smile was heartbreaking.

~**~*

* * *

 

It was on Steven’s own birthday, the tenth, that the SSR had no choice but to declare him Missing in Action. With no word on his whereabouts or transmissions from his radio, it was also assumed that Steven was dead, very unlikely, or captured; a strong possibility considering where Bucky’s body had fallen. There was no word on either possibility and it was enough to make Steve nervous. No one was saying that they had captured a Howling Commando, let alone the one they called the Knight, and that made it even worse to contemplate.

It fell to Steve to take the news to Steven’s father. Steve felt lower than the dust, even worse than he felt when he had to write the condolence letter back to Bucky’s family and tell them what had happened to their son. Writing the second to tell them that their only grandson was missing, just about crushed Steve’s spirit; causing him to break down into sobs. Several of the Commandoes offered to take Steve’s place in telling Arion that Steven was declared MIA, possible POW, but Steve would not relent. He felt it was his duty to tell Arion himself that he had failed his family. That walk up the steps of Arion’s apartment building and down the hall to his door, was the most painful walk of his life. Not even having an asthma attack while running up the stairs of his apartment with Bucky could ever compare to the agony he was in right now.

Steve rested his forehead against the door, and let his tears fall for a moment, before he steeled himself and knocked.

                “Enter,” came Arion’s thin and weak voice through the door in answer to his knocking. Steve opened the door and saw Arion sitting on the edge of a lounge under the window across the room. His face was ashen, only lit by the light from outside the window. He didn’t even glance at Steve before his posture crumpled. “Steven?” he asked weakly.

Steve closed the door, and walked slowly across the room to stand in front of the Vanyar. Once he was standing before him, Steve sat down at his side and turned to face the elf.

                “Philips had to declare him Missing in Action,” Steve said and saw the broken look crumple Arion’s face. “There’s been no word; nothing. We don’t know if he’s been killed or…” Steve squeezed his eyes shut from the pain of that thought. “It’s possible that Steven has been captured by the enemy, but we don’t know by whom. I’m sorry, Arion. This is all my…”

                “Please stop blaming yourself, Steve,” Arion interrupted. Steve looked up at the elf and saw that he had turned his bleak and broken eyes on him. “James wouldn’t have wanted it.” Steve swallowed his pain and tried to comfort Arion, but didn’t know how.

                “Everything’s just gone so wrong,” Steve said. “A little over a week ago you and Bucky were planning your wedding, and now… you’re settling his last affairs; it’s not right!” Arion smiled, but there was no joy in it. It was a smile of pain and broken acceptance, and his eyes no longer shined with their brilliant light, like they had only weeks ago.

                “It’s alright, Steve,” Arion said calmly, “I’ve accepted my fate. Steven may never come home, but there is still hope that they will find James’ body. They may bury an empty casket, but one day it won’t be. On the day they bring James’ body back to me, I will lay down my life to my eternal rest. I bound myself to him in body and spirit, and now I reap the rewards and pay the price for my love. I love James still, and I won’t rest until I can be laid down beside him.” Steve swallowed down more tears and took Arion’s hand in his own. Arion smiled gratefully at Steve’s attempt at comforting him, and went back to watching the street outside his window; waiting for the uniformed soldiers to bring him the flag. “James left his dog tags with me,” Arion said suddenly. Steve looked up at his face with shock.

                “He what?” Steve asked in disbelief, “No, I saw his tags. He was wearing them, when he fell.” Arion smiled sadly again, and looked back at Steve before pulling out the chain from around his neck under his shirt. Steve’s eyes were drawn immediately to the metal tags on the chain, and the silver band. “James thought it bad luck to wear the ring,” Arion chuckled, “a sniper’s superstition. He gave me these and requested a new set. Those were the ones he wore, when he fell.” Steve felt even more saddened by this revelation, and tightened his hand around Arion’s. The elf smiled and dropped the chain to rest over his clothes.

The two sat in silence for a moment before Arion suddenly was drawn out of his stupor to look apathetically towards the door. There came a knock, and Steve slowly stood to answer it. He was in for the shock of his lifetime, for behind the door was none other than Ingwë, High King of the Vanyar. He wore his royal regalia, and a diadem of Mithril and gold wire fashioned in intricate knots and spirals with small jewels attached in key places. Steve was stunned to silence, and his hand fell off the door knob limply. The king looked over Steve’s face and garb before he seemed to see the grief in his eyes, and smiled sadly. Steve stepped out of the way silently to let the elder enter. Steve bowed slightly in respect and looked over at Arion with a brightened face, only for it to fall when he saw how wrecked the elf was at the sight of his father.

Ingwë approached his son, and sat down on the window lounge. Arion looked horrible, his grief finally showing on his face. Steve suddenly became an observer to the conversation that took place between the two, unable to speak and input or unwilling to do so.

                “My son,” Ingwë said. Arion’s face twisted with anger and grief.

                “Oh, so I am your son now,” he bit out harshly, “but I wasn’t before?” Ingwë’s brow furrowed with impatience and anger.

                “Arion,” he warned, and said elf smiled bitterly. The elven king’s shoulders sagged and his face fell into sorrow. “I never wanted you to be angry with me, but I had to follow the laws of our people.” Arion laughed, but it was bitter and full of anger.

                “Not be angry with you?” he asked incredulously, “why would I be angry at you? After all, you only disowned me as your son, and exiled me for things I had no control of!” Ingwë’s face clouded with ire and his bright eyes darkened.

                “You will hold your tongue, Arion Ingwion,” he ordered and his face softened. Arion looked out the window and folded his arms over his chest. “I never wanted to banish you, my son, but, orders or not, you broke the laws and customs of the Eldar by forcing Fëanaro to carry you child. I didn’t know if you had truly fallen into such disgrace, or if it was a lie to break your mother’s and my hearts.” Arion glared at his father.

                “I never wanted to do that to him,” Arion defended, “but I was ordered, and I couldn’t break my cover! If I didn’t do it, then someone else, who would have truly enjoyed breaking his spirit, would have done it! I was willing to suffer the consequences of my actions rather than let the prince suffer! I may not have known Finwë, but I knew he loved his son too much to see him enter the Halls broken and weary of life; like his mother.” Ingwë reached out and set his hand on Arion’s shoulder. 

                “Arion,” the king said sadly and the elf turned bitter eyes on his father as the tears began to run anew. “I didn’t come to argue.”

                “Then why did you come,” Arion asked. “Why did Avery give you passage through the Rift to see me, when you made it perfectly clear just how much you wanted to do with me?” Ingwë sighed and closed his eyes to hide the tears welling up in them.

                “I came because Avery told me what happened,” the king said. “I was angry, when I said those things, and blinded by my pride and hurt. I have come to apologize for what I did without hearing the whole tale, and to rescind my dispossession of you as my son.” Arion looked at his father with shock and new grief. Ingwë smiled sadly at his son and gripped his shoulder in comfort. “I have come to tell you that you are welcome in our family, and to offer my condolences.” Arion finally broke down in tears and buried his face in his father’s tunic. Steve turned his head away but couldn’t help but hear the broken sobs of Arion’s confession.

                “He’s gone, Atar,” Arion sobbed, “my James is gone! He fell, and I don’t even have a body to bury or a grave to mourn over! Now our son is missing, and I don’t know where he is, or what will happen to him!”

Steve suddenly felt too uncomfortable to listen in and left the room to give them privacy. Even out in the dimly lit hallway he could still hear the broken sobs and half wails of lament from within the room. After a while the crying tapered off and the elf king joined Steve in the hall way. The King looked at Steve and the Soldier felt compelled to explain his presence.

                “Bucky, James, was my best friend,” he said and Arion’s father nodded in understanding. “They were gonna get married; Buck and your son. It was all set for when we came back, only Bucky didn’t come back.” Ingwë nodded in understanding.

                “You Second Born always did over exaggerate the importance of ceremony and such in marriage,” the king said. “By Elven custom, they were already wed.”

                “Buck wanted it legal, so that he could take care of Arion and share everything with him,” Steve explained. “I think he wanted more children with him. Bucky was a wonderful Ada to Steven.” Ingwë smiled sadly and looked down at his wedding band. Tears of grief finally ran down his face and the king wiped them away. He looked up at Steve with cold resolve and anger.

                “Avenge his death, Steven Rogers,” the king commanded, “Avenge James’s death and bring his body home to rest.” Steve hardened his expression with cold resolve as he listened to the quiet sobs of Bucky’s fiancé in the other room.

                “I intend to do just that,” he said.

                “Don’t stop until every last one of those monsters, that took my youngest child’s joy and happiness, are dead at your feet and their blood soaks the earth.” The king’s eyes were filled with cold wrath and fury, and Steve felt his own anger rise to match it.

                “Sire,” he said with barely restrained fury, “it’ll be my genuine pleasure!” the king nodded, turned and walked down the steps and vanished from sight with a ripple and flash of light.

Steve listened to Arion’s sobbing and hardened his resolve; his ire fanning into flames under the sound of the elf’s helpless sobs. Steve’s eyes burned with white fire, and his face resembled cold stone; his hands gripped tight at his sides. The jewel resting on his breast bone pulsed with his rage and warmed. Steve hadn’t taken the pendent off since Bucky fell. The Mithril shirt had likewise remained on his person, and Steve wasn’t going to take them off unless it was for sleep; even then the pendent stayed tight in his grasp. He wasn’t going to give HYDRA any mercy, because they didn’t give Bucky any. There would be no quarter, this time. ~*~*

~*~*

* * *

 

                “Come in: This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?” Steve’s voice came through the radio. Peggy and Philips pulled apart from their worrying and Peggy moved to the transmitter where Morita was just beginning to answer his message; relief writ in every line of her body.

                “Captain Rogers, what is your lo…” Morita started, and Peggy interrupted him, relief and concern in her chest.

                “Steve, is that you? Are you alright?” She asked.

                “Peggy!” Steve started, fear and conflict in his voice. “Schmidt’s dead.” Peggy felt a wave of relief that the mad man was finally gone. Then she remembered the plane.

                “What about the plane?” She asked. Steve was silent for a moment before answering her, fear and confusion in his voice.

                “That’s a little bit tougher to explain,” he said, and Peggy felt fear at his situation.

                “Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site,” she said, trying to salvage the situation, and maybe save Steve.

                “There’s not going to be a safe landing,” Steve said, and there was grim realization in his voice. “But I can try and force it down.”

Peggy felt as if her whole world was about to come crashing down. She didn’t even notice Philips motioning Morita out. The older man knew a final conversation when he heard it and this was something that was best to be witnessed by only one other. Jim didn’t need to hear this. He didn’t need to hear a good friend’s dying words.

                “I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do,” Peggy tried to suggest in desperation. She felt the panic and she couldn’t stop it.

                “There’s not enough time,” Steve said. There was panic in his voice; desperation. “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” Peggy felt her heart seize in her chest. Steve’s home; he would never let anything happen to his home, even if it meant his own life. “I gotta put her in the water.” Steve sounded as if he had just come to the realization himself, and he wasn’t sure of himself. Peggy stumbled over her words in an attempt to get more time with him.

                “Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out,” She said desperately.

                “Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere,” he said his voice gaining surety and resolve with every word. “If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die!” Steve paused and all she could hear was what had to be the wind in the cabin of the plane. When he spoke it was desperate and a little scared. “Peggy,” he said his voice desperate for understanding and then his voice was filled with resolve as he said, “this is my choice.” Her very words said back to her.

He sounded sure of himself, and that finally broke her heart. No matter what she said, or tried to say, Steve had made his choice, and he was going to allow him that dignity to choose. Peggy closed her eyes and accepted it; even though the pain in her heart was near unbearable. There was a long quiet on the line, then a metallic grunt and the pitch of the engines changed. It was getting higher and faster. Steve had put it into a nose dive, she realized. She felt fear and despair for the first time in a long while, as the sound of the wind grew louder.

                “Peggy?” he finally said, and broke the dreadful silence. He sounded unsure and scared, he needed reassurance.

                “I’m here,” Peggy said softly. Steve needed to hear her voice, her words, if this was going to really happen.

                “I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance,” he said, and Peggy could hear the fear in his voice. She didn’t want him to be scared. He needed a hope to hold on to and so did she.

                “Alright,” Peggy answered, her voice a little rough with the unshed tears in her eyes. “A weak, next Saturday, at the Stork Club,” she ordered.

                “You got it,” Steve said, and he sounded so confident; so sure he would make it.

                “Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late!” Peggy ordered and need to hear his answer. “Understood?”

                “You know, I still don’t know how to dance,” he said. He was bearing his heart out to her, because he couldn’t tell her he loved her, and this was the only way he knew how to say it. Peggy felt the tears return and she tried to steel her voice so it wasn’t frail and weak, but it came out soft and a little desperate.

                “I’ll show you how,” she promised. “Just be there,” she begged. The wind was getting louder and the wine of the engines faster; they were running out of time. They once had so much and now there was only moments left.

                “We’ll have the band play somethin’ slow,” he planned and Peggy could hear the fear in his voice. It must be close. “I’d hate to step on your…” the radio cut out mid-sentence. She opened her eyes at the sudden silence, startled out of her mid conversation. She looked at the radio and felt a desperate longing in her breast. Peggy needed to know.

                “Steve,” she said with a small hope. The static continued its damning silence, naught but a hiss came out of the radio. “Steve?” she said again with a little more desperation, the tears finally falling. “Steve?” She said a third time trying to fiddle with the controls, her heart breaking but still hoping that he was there; but her logic won out on the hope.

She began to cry silently into the empty room. She didn’t even notice Philips leave the doorway; looking dejected and defeated. The best man he had ever had the privilege to know was gone, and he was going to allow Steve’s girl a moment to mourn him alone. Peggy continued to softly call out Steve’s name, her voice cracking and getting more desperate all the time. After a while she finally just started crying, soft pitiful sobs that were just as broken hearted as Steven’s were when he lost his Ada. She didn’t know how long it was until she felt a soft hand touch her shoulder. Peggy jolted up and saw Howard standing behind her with a terribly somber face

                “Peggy,” he said softly, pulling her away from the controls, “he’s gone.” Peggy’s face crumpled and she buried it in Howard’s shirt. She didn’t see the spark of energetic joy go out of his eyes, nor the bleak expression on his face. She didn’t see the moment Howard stopped being the man that wanted to make flying cars a reality, and became the one that would help create the atomic bomb. Steve left a void in them that would never be filled. He swore to himself that he would dedicate his life to finding Steve Rogers, even if it was the last thing he ever did; he would bring him home.

In the great north, the HYDRA bomber _the Valkyrie_ plunged beneath the thick crust of ice, and became encapsulated in it; turning it into an icy tomb. And inside lay the Captain, knocked out by the crash, falling into a deep icy sleep, waiting to be awoken; waiting to be found, waiting to be brought home.

~~*

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: there it is. One more to go. Just the epilogue now, or post credit scene I guess. I loved writing this story, and I hope you all show your appreciation and enthusiasm for the next installment.


	18. Post Credits- The Winter Knight; The Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a post credit scene for you marvel fans. the tie-in for the next in the series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: to those that have followed me to the end, I say thank you. It has been a long journey, but I enjoyed it. Hope you like this post credit epilogue, for it is the lead in to the next installment in the House of Arthadan series. This first story will forever be my pride and joy, but I want you all to follow me into the next story; so here is the post credit scene for you. ~*

~*~*

It took Steven a few days to find the wreckage from when the weapon blew the side of the train open, but when he did, it was simple math to calculate where they would have been on the tracks when Bucky fell. The report had said it was before a tunnel, so Steven looked for a tunnel in the distance before he made the decision where to descend. The cliff face was steep and unforgiving, so Steven had to anchor his line to the tracks before he attempted to climb down the cliff. The wind howled in his ears as he made the climb down the ravine into the valley floor. When he finally reached the bottom, it was to find himself in knee deep snow, with drifts up to his waist.

The wind was so cold it was freezing his lashes together. Steven ignored it. He was Half Elven, sired by one of the High Elves of the West; the Cold didn’t bother him as much as others. He simply pulled up the wings of his collar and trudged through the snow to find his Ada; Nothing else mattered to him but finding Bucky. After a while he pulled out the recorder and began to make an audio log to track his progress, and order his thoughts.

                “Mission log no. one: approximate date February 9th,” he said into the microphone over the wind. “I have made it down the valley walls, and I am attempting to find further wreckage from the train. If I can ascertain where the wreckage fell in relation to the tracks, I might find the remains of Sergeant Barnes.” Steven said remains because he wasn’t sure that after almost two weeks if Bucky was still alive.

He turned off the recorder, and put it in his pocket to keep on hand. He blew on his cold gloves to warm them before trudging on. Steven followed the curve of the mountain side and the tracks above him to aid his search. He was colder than he ever felt in his life. Not even that early spring when he was first a lieutenant was colder than this. Steven had even begun to shiver a little, but he trudged on; spurred by the thought of his Ada being ravaged by scavengers.

The sun was obscured behind the thick clouds and made it difficult to determine the time of day by the light, but Steven had excellent night vision; one of the things that made him the most feared Howler out of the Commandoes save his own Ada and Steve. Steven figured it was probably nearing sunset, when the ravine finally revealed some of its secrets. Steven’s eyes caught on a small flash of something metallic in the dim light, and he rushed towards it. The young Captain crashed to his knees beside the object and began inspecting it. It was half buried in the new fallen snow, so Steven began to desperately dig it out; scooping the snow away with his gloved hands. When it was revealed, Steven sat back on his haunches and smiled. It was a piece of the train, charred and mangled from the energy blast of the weapon. Steven pulled out his recorder to make a new message: he was on the right track.

                “Mission log addendum,” he said and the wind howled so loudly he had to shout into the recorder to even hope that it would pick up his voice. “I have found pieces of the train wreckage! I will continue on this course until I find more evidence!” Steven stood up and was about to turn it off and put the recorder away, when he saw a familiar object lying half buried in the snow: a swatch of blue wool. Steven’s smile vanished and shock took its place, before he leaped across the wreckage toward the blue.

                “ADA!” he screamed at the top of his voice. He fell to his knees beside it and began digging with only his hands. He didn’t even notice the recorder still on, in his pocket. He put it there without even realizing it, but left it on. More blue wool emerged from the snow, and revealed itself to be the left arm of Bucky’s jacket. Steven smiled with relief and dug faster, even though his hands were turning red from the cold under his gloves and becoming numb. “Ada,” he gasped with a smile when the hand was free, but it soon fell when, as Steven dug up to find the shoulder, all he found was a torn and bloody stump ending above the elbow. Steven paled and dropped the wool encased arm. He scrambled back a bit, almost hyperventilating, before forcing himself to examine the severed limb. The limb looked broken in several places. Where it was taken off, was shredded flesh and shattered bone sticking out of the limb. Steven scrambled to pull the recorder out of his pocket and brought it up to his mouth.

                “I found his arm!” he shouted over the wind. “It looks as if he broke it somewhere in the fall, and it looks to be as if it has been torn off. It’s been severed above the elbow, and there are bits of bone fragments where the humerus would be. It appears to be the left arm. He can’t be far!”

Steven stood back up and looked around for more of the blue wool in the snow. Steven looked across the river and saw a path of freshly frozen ice, very thin, with little snow covering it. It went from a few feet away from the arm to the opposite side of the river. Steven felt his hope rising in his chest, that Bucky hit the ice and fell into the water rather than hit the ground; he might’ve had a chance of surviving then. But Bucky was going to be suffering from severe hypothermia and possibly frostbite, so Steven needed to find him fast.

                “ADA!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. His voice barely carried over the howl of the wind. “ADA!” he screamed again as he gathered his wits and crossed the river ice.

He avoided the thin spots and only his boot fell through the very thin edge on the shore. Steven’s sharp eyes looked for anything that wasn’t normal, but in the fading light it was difficult. Steven raked his eyes over the shore and the spars tree line to find clues, and then he spotted it: a lump in the snow half in the river that didn’t look like it belonged. Steven’s eyes narrowed to focus then widened when the limp shivered.

                “ ** _ADA_** _!”_ he screeched, and bolted across the space between them. He crashed to his knees next to Bucky’s lightly shivering form, and gently turned him over. Bucky cried out in pain when Steven pulled him farther away from the water’s edge and onto his back. “ _Ada_ ,” Steven said softly, and took in Bucky’s form.

The sergeant was half frozen, and his lips were blue from the frost and cracked. There was blood on his face from his nose and his lips, and he had a large gash on his head that looked to be healing. His breathing was ragged and rattling like there was fluid in his lungs. His whole left side was wrong to Steven’s eyes, and a gentle touch elicited a gasp and cough from Bucky. Steven clenched his jaw and did his best to gently determine the damage. Broken collarbone, broken shoulder, shattered Humerus, broken ribs, and a cracked pelvis all found themselves on his list. Steven paled and took off his rucksack.

                “I found him,” he mumbled into the recorder as he pulled out the medic kit. “He’s alive! He’s badly injured, but he’s alive!”

Bucky moaned slightly and Steven looked up to see his eyes open lazily. Steven struck a match and waved the light in front of one eye then the other to check his pupil for reactions. The left eye was blown wide and didn’t react; Steven added severe concussion to the list.

                “It is gonna be okay, Ada,” Steven said as he sat down the recorder on the medic kit lid.

Steven was grateful it was waterproofed otherwise his bandages would be wet. Steven took a sulfa pack and sprinkled it in the head wound. Bucky inhaled sharply from the pain, and began to cough. Steven rested a hand on his chest and mentally reached inward to search for internal injuries; just like Arion taught him. Steven thinned his lips when he realized that all the ribs on Bucky’s left side were broken or cracked. He must have hit his left side on the way down. Steven sent out a wave of healing energy into the internal injuries and gave them a push toward healing properly. Steven unwound a little when Bucky’s breathing became less labored and watery, and bandaged the head wound.

                “This is gonna really hurt, Ada,” he said to Bucky with wide teary eyes, before he electrified his hand and brought it over the bleeding stump. Bucky screamed bloody murder, thrashing and weakly clawing at Steven’s hand, but Steven squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sound and held fast; a few tears leaking out of his eyes in the process. He pulled away and sighed, when the major arteries were cauterized shut leaving only minor bleeding. Bucky sagged and gasped in the snow, still gripping Steven’s hand, but was otherwise unresponsive to his son’s presence.

                “You’re gonna be just fine, Ada,” Steven said with a smile, trying to get Bucky to interact with him. “I’m gonna call in a medevac on the radio, and they’re gonna come get us. We’ll be back in London before you know it.” Steven was crying in fear as he splinted Bucky’s fractured leg and tended to his badly shattered arm. “Dad’s not gonna even care that you don’t got an arm; he’ll just be glad you’re alive! Stark can build you a new one; he’s good at that, and I can help him. You gotta hold on, Ada, and stay with me. You and Steve are gonna have that double wedding, remember?” Bucky’s eyes were unfocused and filled with pain but he seemed to latch onto Steve’s name.

                “Steve…” he said weakly. Steven looked up and smiled in relief that Bucky was responding to his voice, even if it was just Steve’s name.

                “Yeah, Steve,” Steven encouraged with a smile. “He’s your best friend, remember? He’s gonna be so happy you’re alive. You two will be back to terrorizing Brooklyn in no time!” Steven laughed weakly, and Bucky seemed more aware of his surroundings and focused in on his son with a relieved smile.

                “Stevie…” he said weakly, “you came! I knew you’d come.” Steven smiled through his tears and let go of his hand to rummage through his pack for the radio.  He was just about to say something again to give his Ada encouragement, when Bucky’s sad and quiet voice met his ears. “They’re comin’, Stevie. Don’t let ‘em hurt me… again.” Bucky drifted into unconsciousness.  Steven dropped his sack and grasped Bucky’s cheeks gently in his hands to wake him.

                “Ada,” he said with a gentle shake to his uninjured shoulder.

Suddenly Steven felt something in the back of his mind; the presence of others, with dark thoughts and malicious intent. Steven looked up and around them to find out where they were. They seemed to be coming from both ends of the ravine, and Steven felt his heart sink; they were surrounded. With sinking clarity Steven realized that he couldn’t get away from capture without leaving Bucky behind, and having come all this way to save him, he was not going to leave him behind. Doing everything he could to prevent them from knowing who they were, Steven took all their identification and put it in the medic kit, wrapping them in the bandages; praying that someone would find it one day and come looking for them. With a last second of quick thinking Steven turned up the capture variance for the microphone on the recorder, still recording everything, and stashed it in the metal box of the med kit; praying that it would still capture their voices inside the metal box. Steven covered it up with a small pile of rocks and dusted it with snow, before picking up his rifle and taking a firing position over his Ada’s limp form. He sees a dark form on the edge of his vision from where he came from, and took aim. Just as he is about to squeeze the trigger, he felt the cold barrel of a gun on the back of his head. Steven tensed and the rifle pressed hard at his head in warning. Steven slowly dropped the gun and held up his hands in surrender, before lasing them behind his head as he knelt over Bucky’s form.

More men arrive and they are carrying a stretcher. At first Steven is relieved because he sees the red star on their uniforms, and recognized them as Russians. The men began to speak and confirmed his suspicion. Steven didn’t know any Russian but, in mind reading, intents and thoughts were better translated. A quick peek into their minds filled him with a cold dread. They were Russians alright, but they were Russian HYDRA soldiers within the KGB. The one with the gun at his head nudged him with it to stand and Steven did as he was told, keeping his hands laced behind his head. As fast as he was, and with how well he could over power them, Bucky was too badly hurt for an escape run, and Steven didn’t want to risk making his injuries even worse.

The men picked Bucky up, off the ground, ignoring his cries of pain, and put him on the litter. They don’t even bother to fold his arms onto his chest, or immobilize the severed one, letting it drag in the snow as they carried him away. Bucky was more conscious now, but mostly from the pain caused by careless movement.

                “He needs a doctor,” Steven said and pushed the thought surreptitiously into the officer’s mind. “That arm’s gonna continue to bleed and he’s got internal injuries.” The officer jabbed the gun into his back hard, forcing him to stumble along behind the litter carriers. “Where are you taking him? Where are you taking us?” he asked. They all laugh at him, and he realized they could understand English. One of his guards smirked and answered with a thick accent.

                “You’ll see, my little Winter Knight; you will see.” Steven felt that cold pit in his stomach solidify into realization and dread. Only Zola knew his codename was Knight, and only _he_ had ever called him _that_ ; and the Swiss doctor was in custody. The Russians had access to him, he remembered with sinking resignation.

                ‘ _I’m never gonna see my home,_ ’ Steven thought in despair, and closed his eyes as the tears fell. Steven was wrong about the date in his log though; it was the tenth of February. Only a year old, and he was the first Prisoner of the Cold War.

To Be Continued in The Winter Knight…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Finally, it is the end! What a long and wonderful journey this has been. Steven has grown and will continue to grow as a character in the next installment of the House of Arthadan Series. The next in the series will have all the fun stuff: Angels, conspiracies, rescues and a baby. Please continue to follow this series and the fun and adventures within until we get to the best parts: the Lord of the Rings crossover.  
> Steve Rogers will return in the House of Arthadan part 4: Renewed Shall be Blade that was Broken
> 
> Part 2 sneak-peek: it’s been forty years since Steve crashed the Valkyrie in the Arctic. SHIELD has been following the bloody trail of the Red Room’s most feared and Mythical Assassins, over the years. They don’t know anything about the pair and what little they have is rumor and hearsay at best. They have their code-names, and vague descriptions: One is built like a brick house, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist with not an ounce of fat on him, and dark haired; the other is tall and built like Steve, a perfect physique, dark blond hair and luminous blue eyes. They were both strong and fast; and the one with dark hair has a Metal arm. They are the Winter Soldier and the Winter Knight: Russia's mythical super soldiers.
> 
> SHIELD has been trying to capture them for decades, to no avail. And suddenly MI6 agent Arion Ingwion comes to Director Stark and Carter with their identities and a message from the Knight: they want out! That is not the most shocking thing to the pair; it’s the identity of the assassins: Captain Steven Buchanan and Sergeant Barnes.
> 
> Part 2 sees Bucky’s salvation from an unseen source: the Archangel Michael; and Steven’s slow decent into madness before rescue comes from the Howling Commandoes once again. 
> 
> Crossover with pre-series Supernatural; call it a fix before the mess is made.

**Author's Note:**

> please review if you like. reviews and kudos are much appreciated. Deleted scenes await you in the Numenorean's of Marvel Universe. please read.


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